The Blood of the Beast
by Paper Space
Summary: He was like her in many ways. He too was hollow but at some point in his life must have filled up the empty space with anger and a hatred toward everything. She knew in the end he would be hers. His death would be brutal and perfect at her hand- she wouldn't unjust him by making it any other way.  Cover art by Lunatic9289
1. Faith

**Helloo all! This is my debut-first-time-EVVAAA from start to finish story! And it is on none other than that terrible two-some we all just hate to love and love to hate. Now, I want to know whether or not I should throw this out. So even if you think this first teaser chapter is absolutely AWFUL**_** please**_** still review! I really want honesty so if you think that I am just the worst and that I should be banned from the writing community for all eternity… then you better tell me. Thanks guys!**

**[P.S. just a little background info to keep in mind while reading: I figured sense District 2 is so hung up on the Hunger Games who is allowed to volunteer for the reaping must be decided by a council of some sort. This will be mentioned briefly but won't be explored in detail till later in the story. Also as usual all characters belong to Suzanne Collins]**

* * *

><p><em>You'll be free child, once you have died.<br>From the shackles of language and measureable time._

_And then we can trade places, play musical graves.  
>Till then walk away, walk away.<em>

- Landlocked Blues, Bright Eyes.

**1.**

_Clove didn't often think of God._

But as she sat with legs curled beneath her small body and dark eyes focused on the screen before her playing the reruns of last year's Hunger Games, the being came to her mind. This was only because of the delusional, dehydrated girl who laid face-up dying on the dry ground with her filthy hands rummaging through the air, begging for this _God_ to save her. For reasons unfathomable to Clove the cameras continued to focus their lenses on the anti-climactic scene until the already dim-light in the girl's eyes diminished and she was dead.

_Guess her God doesn't watch the Hunger Games_. The corners of her thin lips pulled up into a smirk.

Belief in something so trivial is weakness. It certainly showed in what she had just watched. Clove didn't understand it; blindly sending prayers to the ear of an entity that has never proven itself real and then living life by rules that it may have not even made. For a moment she couldn't think of the exact word for she was looking for -

_Faith_, a small voice reminded her.

Yes, that must have been what made the pathetic girl die. _Her faith._

Throughout her life no one had ever preached such things to her. No one sat her down and tried to make her reconcile some higher-being. No one ever suggested that she fill her life with good deeds and purity. Certainty her parents- with their stone, expressionless faces, didn't believe in such nonsense. As a matter of fact she couldn't think of anyone she knew from back home who did. Probably because District Two already had a higher power to believe in and that was the Capitol.

_But what do you believe in?_

The question took her by surprise because though it was her mind it appeared in, it certainly wasn't she who asked. Slightly confused and a little annoyed that something so pointless had invaded her thoughts she quickly dismissed the question.

She didn't need _anything_ to believe in. She wasn't weak.

Her focus then shifted to her own upcoming Hunger Games as the faces of her competition were pulled from memories of the opening ceremonies and the various district reapings. _Let them all have their deities_, she thought bitterly. _See if that saves them from my very real knives_.

No, she _certainly_ didn't need anything to believe in. Not small, lethal, vicious Clove- the girl who had enough hatred inside her to burn the entire world to the ground, despite only living in it for a short fifteen years. The girl who didn't even understand her own nature; who had grown up so empty that she had to fill up the spaces with anger to keep from becoming a hollow shell. The girl who couldn't remember a time when she had depended on anyone but herself – and why would she? She had no God. Her family existed only to give her a last name. She didn't have friends; throughout her life she had allies.

She was _made_ for these games.

It took fifteen years to prepare her for them. Three days ago her hand shot up with confidence when they called for a female volunteer at the reaping and now she was finally there, in the Capitol, and at the moment sitting in the puffy green couch of her temporary suite with only a matter of days to go until the games began. Her district bred her to kill so she could win. But winning wasn't much of a concern to her. Not because she didn't think she_ could_- she was more than able despite her small frame; her perfected talent of handling knives had put her way ahead of her class and enabled her to be allowed to volunteer for the games this year despite being so young for a District Two tribute.

However if she _were_ to win, afterwards there would be nothing. She would return home, and then what? Be moved into some beautiful house? Receive the praise of her district? Hold the attention of the media for an entire year? Fame and fortune meant nothing to Clove.

But _killing _did.

To finally feel the satisfaction of ending the life of a _human_ enthralled her. She had killed many animals before so she was able to imagine the sensation- how a knife feels when it slashes across flesh or cuts into a belly. But the idea of adding the sensation to, say, an image of the girl from Six whose normally gawking face is suddenly filled with fear at the realization that she is about to die. Or maybe even the boy from Eight, dragging his bloody limbs across the ground as he uses the last bit of energy he can muster to crawl away from her... These thoughts were enough to make her breath hitch from uncontrollable excitement and the large eyes widen on her youthful face- too fresh and young to possibly match the dark fantasies going on within.

In a little over a week she would be standing on the podium in whatever the arena may be, waiting for the gong to sound and for the games to begin. She won't be playing to win.

Rather she'll be playing because her whole life has been about killing–it won't matter if she comes out dead or alive, because when the games are over the purpose of her life will end with them.


	2. Fire

**2.**

The sound of knocking rapidly pulled Clove from her thoughts, startling her. It took her a moment to survey her surroundings and remind herself where she was.

The Hunger Games_ haven't_ started yet. She _wasn't_ in a barren field, or a desert. She _wasn't_ repeatedly stabbing the boy from Eight. She_ was_ however, sitting on an overly luxurious couch in the overly luxurious room the Capital had provided for the duration of her stay until the games actually did begin.

"What?" she snapped.

In response the door opened enough for her mentors head to pop into the room, her handsome face eyeing Clove with something that resembled curiosity. Though Clove didn't like many people at all, she did have somewhat fond feelings toward the tall muscular woman. Her name was Lyme – she had won the games sometime back and unlike many of the others in the vastly large pool of victors from District Two, she wasn't arrogant and didn't act overly superior. Rather she was tough, mostly quiet, and only spoke to Clove when it was necessary – which Clove really liked.

Also unlike other District Two victors, she didn't give off the impression that she really wanted to be here.

"Dinner," Lyme said evenly. Though judging by the slight twisted expression bestowed upon her strong facial features, she had disapproved of Clove's tone. Because Clove held a great deal of respect for her mentor, rather than challenge her further, she pretended not to notice.

Allowing her lithe legs to slip out from beneath her body, she felt the familiar sensation of pins and needles attack her feet. For a moment she stayed seated, flexing her toes and giving herself time to retain some feeling. Lyme continued to analyze her from the doorway and just as she opened her mouth to say something, the sound of china smashing onto marble floor caused both of their heads to whip around toward the dining area outside the doorway. Lyme instantly fled to the scene. But Clove didn't move, instead an involuntary smile crept onto her lips.

Several voices followed the sound of the crash – one of them belonging to their blubbering fool of a Capital escort and the other was deep but loud and shredded through the originally calm air like the sword he was so good at welding.

_He_ was the definition of an arrogant, self-absorbed idiot. Along with having an inflated ego, he had an equally inflated temper and was constantly flying off the handle. He was very much like a child with his tantrums, only unlike a child his body was muscular and massive which made these episodes not quite as harmless. There was indeed something off about him, something Clove had picked up on the minute they turned to each other to shake hands for the cameras to broadcast to all of Panem on the day of their reaping. It wasn't when he aggressively squeezed her small hand so hard that he must have been trying crush the bones of her fingers that she noticed it. It wasn't even when the corners of his well-shaped lips twitched up into a smirk as he did it despite the fact that nearly every television screen in the country was focused in on their faces.

Rather, she saw it when she looked into his eyes- which seemed eerily vacant despite the animation of his face.

_Cato._

He was like her in many ways. He too was hollow, but at some point in his life must have filled up the empty space with anger and hatred toward everything, everyone and maybe even himself.

But there was just enough difference between the two to keep her loathing him… and to keep things interesting too.

For example, one of Clove's favorite new ways to pass the time since being reaped was pissing off her dear district partner- and she was as talented at this as she was at throwing her knives. Though truthfully just about anyone could be good at angering Cato – she just seemed to be the only person who _enjoyed_ it.

Using cold clammy hands she pushed the cape of her dark hair over one shoulder and smoothed out her shirt. Then she treaded into the warzone.

Porcelain shards laid strewn about the stone floor surrounding the suite's long mahogany dinner table and frantic Avoxs scurried about, nearly crashing into each other to clean up the mess. Cato was standing in front of a toppled over chair, his large body leaning over the table and massive hands gripping the edge of it's surface. His white teeth were gritting together and he was almost snarling at his mentor, Brutus- an equally threatening looking 40-something year old victor. Brutus lounged in his chair with one large arm lazily hanging off it, but a toothy smile broke out onto his face- his tan stubbly skin making his teeth glow white.

"Are you done yet?" he asked casually.

A bright red flush spread across Cato's smooth cheeks and one of his nostrils twitched.

"You talk to me like I'm a God-damned idiot," he snarled, rattling the entire table as he pounded into it with his fists.

Pallas, their plump Capital escort with his artificial hair dyed the color of a lime and ridiculous purple eye shadow to match- suddenly piped up at the prospect of possibly having to replace the table along with the now-broken china.

"Why don't we all just take a seat and settle down, hmm?" he coaxed while folding his fat fingers together nervously.

Brutus didn't acknowledge him. Instead he slowly rose from his seat, standing several inches over the already massive Cato and assumed a similar position- leaning over the table with his hands gripping the edge and his face not far from his tributes. Seeing them like this, Clove couldn't help but notice how similar they looked- the main difference being Brutus's tanned rough skin and dark hair as opposed to Cato's relatively fair skin and youth.

"That's because you _are _a God damned idiot. Maybe you should remember who it is that has control over what life-saving sponsor gifts you receive in that arena. Now sit down and shut up," he growled, but despite his tone he still smiled.

For a moment they held their grounds, eyeing each other. Then Cato jerked around and up righted his chair with such force he nearly threw it into the table. Brutus took his seat and leaned back with a look of approval illuminating his features. For most mentors, Cato's behavior would have been a show of utmost disrespect- but this mentor and victor hailed from District Two. Brutus actually _liked _Cato's outbursts – they showed the boys fire which wouldn't just be helpful to him in the games; his aggression would be one of the main sources of entertainment. The Capital always _loved_ a ruthless killer.

Though, since they're arrival this must have been at least the fourth time Cato broke something, which led Clove to wonder if Brutus was setting him off on purpose.

Lyme had been sitting silently beside Brutus through the ordeal, making sure he and his tribute didn't attack each other. Pallas sighed and motioned tiredly to the Avoxs to bring out the food as he took his seat while Brutus took notice of Clove and smiled playfully.

"Aw now look, you frightened the sweet little thing. You need to learn some manners boy, that's no way to act in front of a lady," he said to Cato, though Clove picked up just a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

Her lips tightened. She could kill the old bastard. Her eyes then flicked to Cato whose grin was clearly holding back some smart-ass remark. The only reason he didn't say it was because they were forbidden- at least when Lyme was around. One of their first dinners had ended with Clove forcibly thrusting a salad fork into Cato's hand, which was swiftly followed by his unharmed hand wrapping around her throat and slamming her to the ground before anyone even had a chance to react.

It was because of this same incident that Lyme rose from her seat beside Brutus and relocated to the one next to Cato- the two weren't allowed to sit beside each other ether.

Pallas eyed the group carefully from where he sat at the head of the table then rubbed his forehead – each year the tributes of District Two never failed to be a handful.

* * *

><p>Rich foods of multiple colors lined the table on ornate platters, but what Clove grabbed was a hunk of steak – probably fresh from District Ten whose tributes would most likely die at her hands in a matter of days, she couldn't help but think. The meat was mostly red, barely lined with brown - just how she liked it.<p>

She then selected a long steak knife from the center of the table. In admiration of it's simplicity her fingers trailed along the side of the blade.

The knife was different from other weapons in that its nature was to be personal. It could be used in long distance range which was indeed her specialty. But unlike axes or whips or even swords, a knife could be used so much closer to the victim and required less strength and more nimble fingers. Swords and axes may be able to sever but they can't_ carve_…

As she sunk the blade into her food, she imagined herself cutting Cato.

Her eyes lifted to obtain a visual of him she could use. His brooding figure was hunched over the table across from her, digging into his food with large fists balled around the silverware as if he didn't really know how to hold it properly. Civility didn't suit him- rather than having his large body wedged uncomfortably between an expensive chair and table, she could picture him better running around through a forest and barbarically attacking some animal, eating it raw. Observation of the arm muscles bulging through his dark shirt and how tightly his prominent jaw seemed to chewing left her concluding he was still tense from the ordeal with Brutus.

Sensing he was being watched, Cato instantly lifted his pale eyes to meet her own with such intensity the distance between them seemed to shrink. Those eyes of his were one of the qualities that made him so threatening- the orbs were such a light blue that they could have been two pieces of ice. And as they bore into Clove's own she realized they barely seemed human.

But they didn't scare her.

Her dark eyebrows lifted in response and she blinked with innocence before continuing dig her knife into the steak again, without breaking eye contact.

The texture and resistance of the fat against the blade made it so easy to pretend that it was the inside of his mouth she was ripping through, into the gummy flesh of his cheek.

Involuntarily she lost herself in the moment. Staring at Cato, cutting into the meat- it all seemed too real. Her vision began to darken around the edges as she soaked in the suddenly very angry boy before her, the nostrils of his well-shaped nose flaring out, his broad shoulders becoming even tenser than they were a moment ago. His perfectly angled jaw was now locked. The skin of his face was just so_ smooth._ Would he scream as she did it? Would he-

The steady clatter of forks on plates and glass cups clanking against wood had stopped. The silence of the room pulled Clove from her trance.

She realized first that she had been dragging the blade back and forth across the porcelain plate, making an awful screeching sound. Second, she realized how _tense_ she was – her own teeth had been grinding so hard she now felt a tenderness in her jaw, she had leaned into the table a considerable amount, and her knucles were nearly white from contricting around the knife's handle. Third, she realized everyone had been staring at her.

Like a good mentor, Lyme instantly started up conversation.

"Have you two made the official alliances yet?" she asked, and with her question the table retained some normality again.

"District One approached us today," Cato responded, keeping his eyes cautiously locked on Cloves for a moment more before slowly breaking away.

Lyme nodded in approval – the tradition of the Career pack was as old as the Hunger Games themselves. It was the Careers who killed for the most part – therefore truly making the show. The alliance process was an important one. It was almost always between Districts One, Two and Four with the occasional but rare addition of other Districts tributes if they had a worthy skill.

Ironically though District One was probably one of Clove's least favorite districts. Each year they produced the same haughty, condescending tributes who she swore were almost always blonde with soft skin and a regal air about them. And this year's pair was no different.

"And District Four?" Lyme asked.

"They reek of fish," Clove answered simply and after Brutus's harsh burst of laughter the sounds of clinking silverwear took over again.

Because she thought he wasn't looking, she allowed herself to steal a glance at Cato again only to find his eyes fixed on her once more.

* * *

><p><strong>[That was so fun to write! Clove-Cato tension o0o0o0o0o0o0o. Also though Enobaria seems to be the common choice to Clove's mentor – I choose to use Lyme instead. I mean she was a victor, right? So who's to say she wasn't? Please let me know what you think!]<strong>


	3. Sleepless Nights

**So I've been periodically editing sections of the previous two chapters because in my haste to get them out I skipped over a lot of the process. Made a few changes, tried to make things less confusing. I know its custom to begin most HG fanfics with the reaping but I wanted to pick up the story during the beginning of Clove's arrival into the Capitol then eventually adding in more in-depth descriptions of the reaping/reaping process of District 2 later on when the story between her and Cato calls for it. Also I tried to keep my version of District 2 as close to the books as possible (taking as much as I could out of when Katniss actually visits there in Mockingjay). Anyway, rant over. Hope you like this!**

* * *

><p>And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad<br>The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.  
>I find it hard to tell you, find it hard to take<br>When people run in circles it's a very, very mad world

- Mad World, Gary Jules.

**3.**

In the dark of night, the massive artfully placed stone buildings of the Capitol glow soft changing colors that seemingly touched all areas of the spectrum. Balls of light dotted the wide streets below like tiny flickering stars where animated citizens could be seen sauntering from building to building- their brightly colored bodies and hair giving them the illusion of aliens from another world. Or perhaps it wasn't an illusion- these people _were_ from another world.

Not even Clove who stood with a shoulder pressed against the massive glass wall that separated her from their rainbow city could say that her district, despite being one of the wealthiest, had been anything like this. These creatures of the Capitol would look entirely out of place in her world of mountain people and brick houses built along steep slopes- a realm where food may have been plentiful but life was still hard. She thought of the large muscular masons with their worn skin, hunched over their work like menacing giants. Even the young faces of the aristocrats who trained alongside her in the academy could not match up to this entirely new race of people; these ignorant little beasts who knew of no pain, not even a hardship to weigh on their senseless lives.

Her thumb rubbed against the knife clenched in her hand as she watched them.

Lyme would have been unhappy if noticed when Clove slipped it into her boot as their dishes were being taken away at dinner. She would have thought she was going to use it to kill Cato, or their escort, or anyone else really. But that wasn't the case. It was just something to play with during sleepless nights.

Clove was no stranger to these.

Her inability to sleep for longer than one or two hours at a time used to disturb her greatly- even now there were still many nights spent viscously tossing and turning while staring with blank eyes into the red glow of a clock. But she learned to live with it. It had a minimal impact on her daily functioning, or at least as far as she could tell. Sometimes voices that weren't there would whisper into her ears. Sometimes she would even respond to them. But these occurrences were brushed off as just small mysteries.

For reasons unknown to her, the struggles with sleep had started when she was very young. As a child she would often roam large empty hallways and wander into her town for hours until sun rise. Eventually as she grew she took to practicing with various weapons- her precious knives being among them. This was, in part, how she was able to advance so quickly in the academy: the others in her age class only got a limited amount of daylight hours to perfect their skills. Soon she had begun to believe that sleep was something she was better off without.

After one years' Hunger Games where a boy managed to win by stalking his opponents and waiting for them to fall asleep before he killed them, she came to the conclusion that it was a liability too- a state of ultimate vulnerability. Therefore _defiantly_ being something she was better off without.

Though sometimes she found herself wondering what a dream would be like. Or even a nightmare.

The silence hanging in the air of the room was broken by the sound of light breathing and the_ crack_ of an ankle bone.

Cato didn't sleep well ether.

Instantly she hated herself for jumping at the noise. That had been his goal after all – to at least intimidate, let alone frighten her by moving soundlessly until he was right at her back just to make a point that she _could _have been at his mercy. If this had been the arena, he _could have_ sliced her neck, _could have_ stabbed her straight through the gut- so many of their interactions were of this nature; one trying to intimidate the other, one trying to get under the other's skin. It was childish but after all, were they not still children?

"And what do you think you are going to do with that?" he whispered in such a low rumble it could have been the tremor of an earthquake.

There was something about his tone that told her he had a clue as to what was running through her mind at dinner. Energy bubbled through her veins but she kept her back to him. The ground beneath her bare feet gave slightly as he shifted his weight and crept closer.

"Stealing silverwear now? That seems a little _desperate_," he continued. She could almost _hear_ the sneer on his face before turning her body to actually see it.

Cato towered over her in height and width a considerable amount. They were close enough that she had to raise her chin to meet his eyes.

"At least I'm not breaking it," she breathed. The knife felt light in her hands as she placed it to his abdomen, moving upward and grazing it across the defining line between two fan-shaped chest muscles with deliberate slowness. He instantly tensed up as she did but his fingers didn't latch around her wrist until the blade was against the curve of his thick neck.

She watched the protrusion of his throat rise and fall as he swallowed. The skin puffed slightly around the blade with delicate softness, as if it had been pushing into a pillow instead of his neck. Her vision was darkening again. What had started off as innocent teasing turned into something else entirely. Excitement fluttered through her body, her arms, her fingers. Her jaw clenched shut and her eyes widened at the thought of his blood. All it would take was one push. She_ could_ do it.

So she did.

For just a second, with such a faint movement of her wrist, the blade sunk into his soft bed of skin. If he hadn't been holding her back, she could have slashed it across and splattered his blood onto the walls. But instead the thick fingers closed in on her thin wrist with enough force to send the knife out of her hand and to the floor. A gasp from the pressure exerted on her wrist escaped her mouth before she had time to control it. Her other hand, which she only now noticed had been clenching the fabric of his thin shirt, was quick to fly to his face in defense only to be caught by the deadly fingers of his other hand as well.

The now-red glow from the Capitol lights was nearly reflected in his vacant eyes as they weighed down into hers. An involuntary cry slipped through her lips unchecked as his grip tightened, but this time she couldn't even bring herself to care. Like a trapped animal she had reverted to basic instinct and struggled from his grasp to save her wrists before they shattered. The hard line of his mouth curved into a smile at the sight of her desperation.

"I'd be careful with that thing if I was you," he whispered in a raspy voice, pulling her body into to his as if it were weightless. All her eyes could take in were his broad shoulders and neck which was now marked with a thin pink line.

She tried to keep the pain from her voice as she asked in a mocking tone, "Why? Are you scared?"

"No," he said. "But you are."

The statement set off a fire inside her and the pain from his iron grasp dulled for a just moment. He could rip off her hands, she didn't care. She _was not_ afraid of Cato, of anything.

With gritted teeth she nearly spit the words, "I'm not."

Then his square face was in hers, tilted just slightly enough for his hot breath to touch her lips. Light eyelashes lowered over his pale orbs as they stayed locked on hers in an expression she had never seen his features display; one that could only be described as somewhere between lethargic and seductive.

"Then maybe you should be. You're so…" his voice trailed off for a moment as he gave her wrists another squeeze which made one of them crack. The pain was suddenly unbearable. He was going to break her wrists. She hated this. She hated not being in control. Tears of agony sprung to her eyes as she chomped down hard on her lip to keep from screaming. "Delicate."

"I could kill you," he breathed. "Right now, I could kill you. It would be so easy to just snap that pretty little neck of yours."

And then it was his turn to feel discomfort. When her knee went straight into his groin he instantly doubled over and threw her hands back with enough force to send her entire body to the ground. A dull thud rattled the air along with Cato's voice, hissing a dozen different ways to call her a bitch. With difficulty she managed to crawl over to the discarded kitchen utensil lying on the ground that was about to be used as a weapon. He was going to suffer for that little stunt. She would make sure of that.

"You're pretty delicate yourself, sweetheart," she snarled.

The room was whizzing past her eyes before she could even turn back to stab him, and her head was suddenly smacking hard against the wall. Bright lights spotted her vision. Cato had her pinned by the throat, slowly pushing in. With ease he snatched the knife from her weak hands.

"You are going to pay for that," he huffed, though she could barely hear him over the ringing in her own ears.

Saliva was gathered in the side of her cheek ready to be spit at him when the lights of the room suddenly flicked on, blinding her eyes with their abrupt brightness.

Brutus stood leaning against the end of the staircase across from them. The clarity of the lightened room allowed enough visibility to see the smirk his mouth was twisted up in across worn skin dotted with sprouting dark hairs and his eyes which were wide with something Clove couldn't read.

"Bravo Kiddies, the crowds going to love that," he praised. Then added in a tone much more serious: "Cato, _let off her_."

For a moment she was unsure that Cato would listen but after a beat his hand shot back from her neck as if it had bit him. The air burned uncomfortably in her throat when she inhaled a deep urgent breath, causing her to instantly choke on it. As she grasped at the sore areas his fingertips had left in their wake, her hands still quivered.

That was when she realized the real damage that could have been done. Her wrists. Her _hands_. Her controls. Without full capability and precision of her hands she was nothing, she would be useless in the arena. In the light she could now see the already almost black bruises mainly concentrated on the sensitive skin beneath her palms. Nervously she rolled one of her wrists which resulted in a cringe worthy-crack and a pulse of scorching pain that ran its course through her arms.

_That bastard. That fucking bastard._

Her eyes lifted to glare at Cato who stood across from her and found that he had already beat her to the punch. Brutus's large form then blocked him from view.

"Clove, let me see your wrists," he said with unusual softness

In resistance she shook her head and stuck them firmly to her sides. The only way to hold on to the little dignity she had left was to suffer alone. She didn't want his help, and she especially didn't want his pity.

Instantly the softness in his voice evaporated and she realized she would be receiving no pity from him.

"_Give me your God damned wrists_." He barked the order with enough harshness to break down her stubborn wall and they nearly flew from her sides.

Roughly he turned them over in his own calloused hands, ignoring the winces she did her best not to make. After a moment he eyed her with earthen orbs and said in a flat voice: "Not broken."

She knew what this meant. No real injury. Live with it.

Relief didn't come with his words though. She couldn't be sure he wasn't lying. It occurred to her that Brutus may have seen the whole incident and chose to not intervene. He was Cato's mentor after all. Why would he stop his tribute from putting competition at a disadvantage? Likewise, why would he actually care if her wrists_ were_ really damaged? After all they would be one of the key ingredients in a knife piercing directly through Cato's chest.

Lyme's face appeared in her mind and she cursed herself for the desire of her mentors pressence in her already physically weakened state.

"You two are lucky Lyme was out tonight," Brutus said, clearly reading her mind. But instead his eyes were locked on Cato. "Of course I will have to tell her about this. Well some of it at least." He directed his attention to Clove now, "You will have to get that little injury fixed before training tomorrow. You can't walk around with those bruises. It looks bad for us."

No mention of how it will debilitate her during training.

A dark smile then crept slowly onto his lips as he flipped Clove's knife around in his hand. She had not even noticed he picked it up.

"I have to say, you two are by far the feistiest tributes our district has had in quite some time. And that's truly saying something. Those attitudes are going to get you a lot of sponsors. And that eagerness to_ kill_…" His voice dropped an octave. "-is going to get you far in the games. I haven't been with you at training but from what you've told me, the other tributes this year sound even weaker than they are usually."

It was true. The districts served up little competition for Two this year. Clove had been watching them during training; the crippled boy from Ten, the pair of long gangly-looking tributes from Six, the thin under-fed boy from Nine, the girl from Eight who constantly looked on the verge of tears, the girl from Twelve always tying knots who looked only slightly more difficult to kill than the sister she had so boldly volunteered for, the little girl from Eleven…

Then the enormous looming presence of the_ boy_ from Eleven crept into her mind. There was something about him that put her at unease. _He _would be competition. Perhaps that was why.

Brutus pulled her away from her thoughts.

"It sounds to me like the way is paved for a District Two victor this year," he said and Clove doesn't miss his eyes lingering on Cato's. "My advice to you two is to monitor your timing. First off control yourselves till the games. Once you're there focusing on taking out the weaker tributes first. Use District One until the majority of your competition is dead then take them down too."

He began to back away with his head tilted down and a smile that looked as if he was bearing his gleaming white teeth at them.

"Then, when the time is right," he said. "You can put all your effort into killing each other."

With that he turned off the light switch, leaving Clove and Cato in the dark again. The only break in their silence traveled down from somewhere up the stairs where Brutus had paused before shutting the door to his room to say, "Goodnight, you two."

* * *

><p><strong>Please do review! Like I said before even if you think this is awful I want to hear it. My goal is to better myself as a writer so even a poor review is better than none at all. Also if anyone has any suggestions I'm open to those too! Thanks again ;) xxx<strong>


	4. The Negotiator

**(EDIT: Hey guys! I added on an extra ending to this chapter. I needed to fit it in somewhere and the beginning of the next just didn't seem right.) **

**H****appy Belated Easter everyone! I first and foremost want to give a big big big big thankyou again to everyone who reviewed! You guys seriously made me so happy. I really can't describe how I felt when I came online and saw what you all wrote. And a special thankyou to BreathingTimeMachine who reviewed each of my chapters. AHHH You're all so awesome! And you have all motivated me to keep going with this story. Thankyou thankyou thankyou!3**

**Also on a side note I'm trying to weave various aspects into Clove's story that explain at least somewhat why she is the way she is. I mean no one just comes out a vicious killer. Not drifting into R.E.M. sleep often enough for example would be detrimental to someone's physical and mental well-being (cough cough). **

**And one last thing too! (Then I'm done, I promise haha). Though I absolutely loved the movie and I thought the casting was perfect- while writing this I am going to stay loyal to what was shown in the book as opposed to what we saw in the movie. I thought this was important to mention. (Though I must admit I pictured Clove as looking like the beautiful and ever-talented Isabelle Fuhrman before she was even cast- so that ended up perfect.) For example today we shall explore one small statement made by Katniss in the books where she said she saw Thresh decline an invitation from the Careers ;) **

**Once again all characters belong to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

><p><strong>4.<strong>

Lyme walked as if every step drained more and more from her body's already depleted storage of energy while Clove trailed beside her. There were purple rings beneath her eyes that almost matched the awful color of Clove's now swollen wrists. Her mentor must have not come back to their suite last night until long after Clove had returned to her bed, thinking of a million different ways to kill her bastard of a district partner.

Now they navigated through a maze of hallways in the basement of the building, where both the training center and the medic's station were located.

That morning, Brutus had waited till Lyme sluggishly made her way down the stairs and took her place at the fully occupied table to suggest in a pleasantly amused tone that she should take a look at her tributes wrists. This was followed by Lyme shooting up and slamming her coffee cup on the table with enough force to make even Brutus jump. But when she demanded to know what happened, he simply jerked his head to Cato without saying a word. Then in the blink of an eye she was dragging Clove out the door and into the elevator.

It simply boggled Clove's mind as to how, even in the mornings, Brutus still managed to be a persistent asshole.

However despite her immediate reaction, Lyme had been entirely silent for the majority of their walk. The energy she displayed when she first saw Clove's damaged wrists had evaporated as quickly as it came. It wasn't until they were standing in front of the door to the station that she put a large hand on Clove's shoulder and spoke.

"What happened?" she said. It was curious as to why she had waited this long to ask the question.

But Clove didn't want to talk about it. Not because it had disturbed her, but because she didn't like the attention she was receiving over the incident. It made her feel helpless. So she just shrugged.

Lyme didn't accept this as an answer though and annoyance suddenly took over Clove. She didn't like feeling forced to do anything.

"Why does it matter?" she snapped.

Lyme's face remained unchanged as she continued to wait. Clove gritted her teeth. She wasn't going to win this.

"I threatened him so he grabbed me by the wrists," she said, careful to leave the knife out of the summary. At least Brutus had been so kind as to not inform Lyme that her tribute had attempted to stab his tribute last night.

For a moment it didn't seem that this had been a satisfactory answer but Lyme eventually took it with a sigh of exasperation and opened the door. But before allowing Clove to walk in, she leaned down close to her ear.

"Don't trust Brutus," she muttered.

When the words finally gained meaning, Lyme was already half way down the hall.

* * *

><p>Less than an hour later, the pain and swelling in her wrists had been reduced to a near non-existent amount thanks to a cast of brightly colored professionals and their needles. As a matter of fact, the slight discoloration where the purple bruises once were was the only sign that an injury had ever existed.<p>

All of the damage had been undone. Well… almost all of it.

She still wanted Cato's blood. Last night she had made a small promise to herself that before she killed him, she would be sure to slice his hands off with his own sword.

But this wasn't forefront on her mind as she made her way from the medic's station to the training center. Instead she couldn't stop thinking about the very simple warning her mentor had given before her departure.

_Don't trust Brutus._

What did this mean? The only conclusion she could come to was that Brutus must have had it out for her. She assumed this anyway considering the shared glory a mentor receives when their tribute comes out a victor. But perhaps it was more than she had anticipated judging by Lyme's reaction this morning. She couldn't know for sure. Either way the warning was unnecessary.

Clove had_ never_ trusted Brutus.

As she reared the corner to the training center, she had to stop short to avoid walking into Glimmer.

The lovely District One tribute was busy arranging her cape of golden blonde hair into a pony-tail with elegant hands, allowing it to flow across her shoulder. Her green eyes took notice to little Clove who opposed in her ascetics in just about every way possible – rather than being tall with long athletic legs, she was short and still maintained an un-matured body plan; rather than having a narrow face with high-cheek bones and skin the color of the moon, her face was sharper and had a sprinkle of light freckles across her cheeks and nose; rather than having emerald green eyes framed by perfectly mascaraed eyelashes, she had eyes that were large, round and of such a flat dark green color they were often mistaken for black, or more realistically brown, from a distance.

Her perfectly shaped lips curved into a smug smile. "'Morning Clove," she said lightly.

Clove only shot her a scowl in response. She couldn't wait to cut that mouth clear off her face.

Her district partner Marvel stood beside her with his arms crossed. As usual his smooth face looked entirely indifferent. Like Glimmer, he had blonde hair that swept across his head in artful waves, high cheekbones, and a narrow face. His long nose was almost always tilted up as if he couldn't bear to breathe the air of the lesser people around him. He was almost as tall as Cato only nowhere near as built- but this was obviously due to nature. Like District Two, District One trained their prospective tributes from a young age and chooses each year which ones get to participate in the games.

Of the pair, Marvel was by far the bigger threat. He had an unprecedented skill with weapons, especially when it came to spears. Even Cato who was good at wielding nearly everything couldn't hurl a spear through a target like Marvel could. Glimmer would still be competition- Clove had once watched her arch her back with all the lithe and grace of a dancer, only to slice a dummy in two places at once with a duel sword. But even still she had nothing on her haughty partner.

Marvel's cool blue eyes flicked to one of the hands placed firmly at Clove's side, taking in the bandages wrapped around her wrists. This was a late reminder that she had forgotten to take them off.

"We were just waiting for you," he said.

Now having perfected her hair, Glimmer peered around Clove as if she had been hiding something behind her back. "Where is Cato?" she asked.

On cue the elevator opened revealing none other than the asshole himself, and from the look on his face he was more pissed off than usual. Clove wondered if her mentor had chewed him out.

Glimmer was the last to turn her head to acknowledge Cato. But Clove hadn't missed the way she ran her hands carefully over the smooth spandex covering her thighs, then across her perfectly shaped behind before resting them on her exposed hips. Cato he hadn't missed this ether. He stood in the elevator for just a moment more, eyeing her body.

"Good Morning Cato," she said with indifference, but once she had turned away from him a smirk crept onto her face.

Marvel just nodded to him and sighed, "And that leaves two more. They are_ always_ late."

Cato completed their circle, standing slightly closer to Glimmer than he did Marvel, Clove couldn't help but notice. But his eyes had now zeroed in on Clove's bandages. And then he started smiling.

_Of course_.

"Heal up okay?" he asked.

Clove wanted to punch him. But instead she satisfied herself with replaying his doubled over form from last night after she had kicked him square in the group of organs that as a female, she would never have to worry about.

"Sure did, how 'bout you?" she said.

His nostrils flared slightly but the smile was still pinned to his face. "Fine. Though, I didn't need to be escorted down to the medics this morning because of my injury."

With the sweetest, girlish grin she could muster she said, "Not yet, at least."

Then the elevator opened to reveal the District Four tributes. They were both tall and tan, with extremely long torsos and muscular legs from a life of swimming. The boy almost looked like a fish the way his wide brown eyes were set a far distance from each other on his face. Even the sides of his squared-off cheeks would dimple in such an odd way when he spoke that he seemed to have gills. Clove was always forgetting his name though, so she referred to him as Fish Head. The girl had long locks of frizzy curls the color of sand that ran down her sun-darkened back. Clove remembered that her name was Marina because she often caught the girl watching her with caution in her sky blue eyes. The little sea slug feared her. And Clove loved it.

When they all entered the training center as a group, Glimmer trotted beside Clove.

"So, what _did_ happen to your wrists?" she taunted, thoroughly enjoying herself.

Clove was quick to respond with something she was sure would piss her off.

"Well it was last night and gosh... I just really shouldn't say. Our mentor was so mad when he caught us though," she said, adding in a perfectly played giggle. "Cato really does work _wonders_ with those hands of his."

The message was already clear but for fun Clove raised her hands together over her head as if someone had been holding them there. The reaction on Glimmer's face was immediate. Her arched eyebrows lowered and her lips parted in an expression that was shocked if not revolted. As Clove quickened her pace away from Glimmer, she was sure she could still feel a pair of emerald eyes on her back.

* * *

><p>The professional trainer managing the knife throwing station decided to kick things up a notch when Clove stepped up- after two days of training she had become his favorite.<p>

The dummies began to automatically move from side to side, front to back. The trainer approached her with a case filled to the brim with knives of all kinds. Unlike what she had nearly stabbed Cato with last night,_ these_ were meant specifically for people, not food. She picked up the first one with delicacy as if haste would break it. That was quite a joke though. This knife was remarkable in its design – with thick leather handles and a blade that had never been touched.

With the power and precision gained from of years of skill, she launched the first knife directly into the center bullet point of the dummy's head farthest from her. She always liked to put faces to each of her dummies- that one had been the girl from Four. Next up was the boy from Six. With a little more aggression this time, she threw the knife at her second target.

Once again, she did not miss. The weapon made a clear beeline into the dummy's eye.

Four, dead. Six, dead. Who was next? She turned to the training center and scanned over the tributes wandering from station to station, looking for an interesting candidate. Then her eyes rested on the back of a head whose sheet of dark hair was in its usual braid. The smile already on her face turned wicked.

Yes,_ she_ would be perfect. _The Girl on Fire._

Clove selected a fine knife this time, only the best for the dear little coal miner. This one was heavier, posing more of a challenge. The dummy that moved from side to side closest to her, therefore going the fastest, suddenly had olive skin and a pair of wise gray eyes. With a slight grunt she hurled the knife and it landed right where she had intended it to go.

Directly into the heart.

What was the girl's name again?

_Katniss._

The trainer's claps pulled her back into the training center. She ignored him, suddenly in a rotten mood at the realization that this was only training and those were only dummies. A great emptiness took over her as it so often did. She was so focused on trying to feel something that she had hardly noticed Cato before stumbling into him.

"Watch it!" she hissed, even though it was her who walked into him.

"Sorry," he lied. Then with a jerk of his head in the direction of where Marvel and the District Fours stood a few stations over, he added, "We're needed."

When they approached Marvel, his deep blue orbs were fixed on something across the training center. It didn't take Clove a long time of searching to find what he was looking at- it was a boy who could be accurately described as a massive ship among a sea of nothings.

He was training alone at his station, his monstrous brown arms carrying an axe who's blade must have been the size of Clove's entire torso. The way he lumbered with it made him look as if he were a mountain giant that had stepped right out of one of the limited fairytales she had heard as a child. Just like these giants, his determined face might as well have been stained with the blood of small children as he focused on his future dummy-opponent with haunting gold eyes.

Then, as if the axe had been weightless, he swung it around his body and sliced the body of the dummy in a vertical line starting right at the head. It was perfection that could usually only be obtained from years of training. Only this boy had no training, at least not from what she could assume about his District. Eleven was one of the poorest districts in all of Panem.

This stunt must have sold Marvel.

"We could defiantly use him," he nodded. From the way he said it, he might as well have been agreeing over the final price of a diamond or one of the other fineries his district produced.

"But of course," he added with a sigh, "This isn't all my decision."

His face was distant again as he turned to Cato. Though it had been unspoken, Cato was promoted leader of the group. After all, he was the most powerful, the most aggressive and the most unstable. It was as if he had obtained Godly status among them and one wrong move that pissed him off would result in any of their ends. Though, Marvel seemed to challenge this the most. Clove assumed that was probably because throughout his life he never had to respond to anyone.

Cato watched the Eleven boy through narrow eyes. "He's going to say no," he said with surprising insightfulness.

"To us?" Marvel said with amusement. "Seems highly unlikely."

"He's from Eleven," Cato said. "They don't take kindly to Districts whose citizens aren't coated in dirt."

The District Fours were both still staring at the boy with wide eyes, clearly agreeing with Marvel. But no one wanted to oppose Cato.

Realizing he might lose this, Marvel looked over his shoulder to Glimmer who stood with a loaded bow in her hands at the station nearest them.

"Glimmer!" he barked. "Get over here!"

The distraction of hearing her name called in such a disrespectful manner caused the trajectory of her arrow to almost miss the target all together. Her green eyes narrowed at him but she still turned around and forcibly shoved the bow into the hands of the trainer. Then she stomped over to them.

"Look," he said as she approached, nodding at Eleven. He was now lumbering away from the axes to of all things, the edible plants station. But then Clove saw the reason why.

The little girl from his district was waving him over frantically with an expression of happiness on her young face.

Glimmer twisted her mouth to the side in thought, looking like a rabbit as it chewed down grass. Then her eyebrows rose.

"He would be an asset," she said.

The still silent District Fours both nodded in approval as well. Then they all turned to Clove.

An ominous cloud seemed to follow the grisly tribute wherever he went. Clove could almost see it as she watched him. It didn't make sense; Cato was just as large as he was, maybe even bigger. And yet even upon first meeting Cato she didn't get the same feeling she got from just observation of this massive creature at a distance. It was a feeling that told her she didn't want him on her team. As a matter of fact, the farther away she stayed from him in the games, the better.

It was so uncharacteristic of her, and even she knew this. But there was no denying it – Clove was afraid of the boy from Eleven.

"No," she said. "The faster we kill him, the better."

"Over ruled," Marvel said with finality, though his eyes flicked to Cato. Only Cato wasn't looking at Marvel, he was looking at Clove.

That was all the permission Marvel needed.

Just as Cato had become the unspoken leader of the group, Marvel had become the designated spokesman- the smooth negotiator. He was the poster boy of the Careers this year.

Though, the tribute from District One was a man of many faces.

When around Clove and the rest of their pack, he was often turned off and expressionless. When performing for the Capitol, he was charismatic and sociable, knowing just how to play for the crowds. When strutting about the other tributes, he was smug and terrifying in his own right- with his cool blue eyes and exceptional skill in handling spears.

But as he approached the boy from Eleven, the face he chose to wear was his usual: cold and indifferent.

Cato followed close behind him and Clove decided it would only make sense for her to go with him. They were the District Twos – the real intimidation factors. But as every step took her closer and closer to Eleven, she felt anything but intimidating.

At the sight of them, Eleven made a motion to the little girl who perched behind him. It came as a surprise when Clove noticed that this girl eyed them with more bravery than did some of the tributes that were twice her size. She didn't move until Eleven shooed her away again.

For some reason a question exited Clove's lips without any real thought behind it.

"What's his name?" she whispered to Cato.

Cato wasn't facing her; all his focus was on Eleven. But he answered anyway.

"Thresh."

_Thresh._

Putting a name to the face made her feel little better. It was proof that this creature was at the very least a human. But it didn't ease her nerves as Thresh moved his limbs to meet Marvel half way. And it certainly didn't ease her nerves when she was able to see Thresh's face and more specifically his _eyes_ up close. His countenance was as hard as a rock. He really was like a giant. A giant that would probably reach across and rip the long-bodied Marvel clear in half. What was even happening? She couldn't be sure. But Marvel must have offered him the invitation into their exclusive group because now Thresh was opening his mouth to speak.

"No," he said, his voice rumbling like thunder.

Marvel looked as if he hadn't understood. "No?" he repeated.

"No."

Marvel tilted his head to the side and a bemused smile pulled up his lips as if the massive boy had told a good joke.

"_You_ are turning down_ us_," he chuckled. "Well, to each his own I suppose."

Clove wanted to turn around and leave right then and there but Cato piped up.

"Bad mistake," he said. There was a dark smile spread across his face but his voice was bordering a snarl.

In that moment Cato looked absolutely menacing. But Thresh needed no such animation, he stayed absolutely still and the effect was the same. Both their unusual sets of eyes glared into each other, creating a mutual agreement that needed no words: sometime after that cannon sounded, signaling the start of the games, it would be one of them who would kill the other. Then without warning those golden eyes flicked to Clove.

Instantly she was overcome by the desire to run. But instead, in defiance she planted her feet firmly to the ground and arched her back. He would _not_ know that she was terrified of him. And in all reality, what was there really to be terrified of? He was human. Her knives would take him down just as easily as they would his little District partner.

But for some reason when she tried to picture her weapons of choice maiming him, her mind's eye only showed her a vision of him pulling them out from his body as if they had been nothing more than irritating splinters. It was much easier to imagine his brute force over powering her, the same way Cato's had the night before. Only much worse.

Despite her momentary bravery, when Thresh broke his eyes away from hers, she found herself backing away into Cato. This was just a small motion that was substituting for shielding herself behind him completely.

Against her body, his chest felt hard but it was radiating heat. And her small figure fit into his in the same jagged but perfect way two pieces of stone can still fit back together after freshly being cut. A wisp of his breath blew against the stray hairs sticking out of her braids. His heart beat maybe three times behind her head. For the moment, her nerves were put at ease.

Then she realized what she was doing.

Instantly she snapped away from him. _Why _did that just happen?

At first she wasn't going to look at him, expecting to see a sneer or maybe hear the classic question they always seemed to be asking each other: "_Are you scared_?" But when curiosity won over, the expression she saw him display was entirely uncharacteristic; he was eyeing her with inquisitiveness and seemed… confused. As if she had been a difficult puzzle he couldn't seem to place together. There was not even a hint of sarcasm on his face. She had never seen him look so genuine.

When Marvel strode past them, she was still questioning Cato and her own sanity. But that had been the signal to return back to the group.

The negotiation was over, their request had been denied.

Though Clove was sure Cato was right when he told Thresh that his decision was a mistake.

* * *

><p>Marvel was still carrying on about District Eleven as they all sat down in the dining hall across from the training center.<p>

"He must have been dull. Honestly I don't understand these provincials," he said, motioning with a hand to the majority of the room. A few of the tributes sitting near them looked up briefly at the gesture, and then went back to plaintively eating their food.

Cato's harsh laughter painfully reverberated in Clove's ears. Did he really feel the need to_ constantly_ be so obnoxious?

"Does it matter?" Cato said, and then added in a lower octave, "He'll be a fun one to kill."

_Kill._ The word hung in the air for a moment and brought with it a blanket of intensity that fell around all of them. Clove's posture straightened.

"Maybe for you."

It was the airy voice of Marina that broke the sudden silence. Her features hardened as she continued, "But the rest of us aren't six foot something and built like a wall."

It wasn't a complement. Her words were full of resentment. Clove could feel own her eyes narrowing as she analyzed the girl who now kept her head down, only looking at the strange bread on her plate with bitterness. The bread was dotted with green seaweed.

Just that morning, in a display even Clove couldn't deny was alluringly deadly, this same girl had, in one fluid motion, hurled a harpoon into a dummy twenty feet away then with one swift pull had it within range to forcibly slice across its neck with a knife.

But now she as she bit into her lip and kept glassy eyes on her plate, she was undeniably pathetic.

This display of weakness seemed unforgivable. Perhaps she belonged with the other tributes who sat at their own tables with similar expressions bestowed upon their faces; pity, bitterness, defeat. Marvel must have thought the same thing, because for a moment Clove met his blue eyes across the table in what she believed to be an understanding.

Do they keep her?

What they were- Cato, Glimmer, Marvel, Marina, Fish Head and herself – was a temporary alliance of which membership required an agreement to not kill each other until the rest of the competition had been eliminated. This was something Clove _never_ forgot. She refused to show any display of emotion around these people or leave herself vulnerable in their presence for even a minute. Because when it came down to just them, which surely it would, that was when the real show would begin.

The most brutal finales were always between Districts One, Two and Four. Sometimes these show-downs were so entertaining the Game Makers didn't even have to throw weather catastrophes or mutations into the mix. She recalled one year when directly after the last lesser tribute had been slaughtered, the remaining six had it out right there over the body and a victor was declared literally less than fifteen minutes later. That was how long it took for them to turn on one another.

And this year she knew would be no different.

Truthfully, the group of them hardly liked each other. They put on a good façade around the other tributes for intimidation purposes. But despite friendly faces and playful taps, almost all conversation- especially between Marvel, Glimmer, Cato and Clove- was carefully calculated, and most statements made had an underlying meaning behind them. The tension between all of them was almost always high and Clove couldn't imagine it going anywhere but up once they stepped foot onto that arena.

She wondered what their final show down would be. Who would be left? Because if Marina or Fish Head were still around, they would surely be killed first. But then who? Would Marvel perhaps turn and try to spear Cato who was the physically largest threat? Or perhaps Glimmer would pull something sneaky- like disappearing for some time until only one of them was still standing and then come back with an unexpected attack? Or would Cato very simply finish them all off before anyone really got to do much of anything?

Clove realized that if it were to come down to it, it would most likely be none of the above.

_She_ would be the one to attack first.

It would be so easy and fast to catch each of them with a knife to the throat. But that wouldn't be very fun would it? These would be the last kills of her life after all- even if she weren't to die in the arena. She would have to make them worthwhile. Who would she leave for last? Glimmer perhaps? Her face wouldn't be so pretty anymore if Clove were to take her knife to it. Or how about Marvel? What would he do if she had somehow managed to pin him down beneath her- so far below from where he usually sat up on that high horse of his?

Then her mind trailed to Cato. He would be the biggest challenge. With both their weapons it would be the fight of a lifetime. He may have had his brute strength and power but she had her agility and skill. A sword wouldn't be hard to dodge- nether would a spear. But _he _would have some trouble. She was never one to miss a moving target.

His dusty gold head was tilted ever so slightly and his mouth was tugging into the tiniest of sneers while his blank eyes dug into Marina. He was thinking about slaying her, Clove could see it in the stillness of his body.

Oh, what a perfect pair they were, the tributes of District Two.

Maybe she didn't trust Brutus, but his suggested order of operations was right. Eliminate the competition, eliminate District One, and then save each other for last. Besides, even when a tribute dies during the games, they still get a ranking. So wouldn't it only be considered fair to her district if first and second place were occupied by its two and only tributes?

"Well," Marvel's deep voice sheared through the stillness. The glass he raised to his mouth didn't completely conceal his smile. "You never really know what surprises you'll find in the arena."

* * *

><p><strong>Can't wait to hear all your thoughts on this chapter! I hope I'm not disappointing anyone. I know it was super long. The rough draft was even longer but I had to condense it -_-<strong>

**I want to hear your thoughts on this chapter! What did you think of Marvel and Glimmer? Even though I hated this chapter I actually had a lot of fun introducing the too-good-for-you pair. I mean they're gonna have pretty big parts in this story- they are the Careers after all! Also whatever could Lyme be doing with her late nights? Hmmmmm. P.S. Hurray for foreshadowing! ;) I love writing about Thresh so much. He's such a great character! I wish we could have seen more of him in HG.**

**Anywhooo I'm super pumped about the next chapter. Private Sessions, scores, and interviews are all coming up… and a few surprises too ;) Please let me know what you liked/didn't like/want to see/ect. **


	5. Burning

**Quick announcement: ****I added an extra ending onto the last chapter****! So for those of you who didn't read it make sure you do before you continue on : )**

**Sorry this took me so long to get out. These chapters are gonna start cranking out a little slower from now until finals week due to copious amounts of school work. But I will try to use as much free time as I have to make sure they still come out in a timely fashion. The support I have receiving from you guys has been AMAZING. Seriously I can NOT stress enough how happy it makes me! I continue writing for all of you. All your reviews motivate me and inspire me to keep going. Thank you so much!**

**Also for all you Clato lovers out there, you guys should check out the stories by Azalea419 and pll-love who both have some fanfics on the two. I've read the first chapters and they are absolutely stunning. You guys are super talented!**

**Okay anyway… hope ya'll enjoy! WARNING: there's going to be swearing in this. And as usual Suzanne owns all.**

* * *

><p><em>A boy with a coin he crammed in his jeans<br>Then making a wish, and tossed in the sea.  
>He walked to a town that all of us burned<br>When God left the ground to circle the world._

- Boy With a Coin, Iron and Wine.

**5.**

Another night crept past before her wide open eyes. Silent. Slow.

By the time the sun ushered in a pink sky over the gleaming buildings of the Capitol, exhaustion and frustration weighed down her limbs. As she moved, her mind only processed a few select images; pale feet on a plush green carpet, a red towel draped over an arm, a wide white door, a placid face glaring from the mirror, droplets of water from a shower head.

Two more days.

The thought was enough to arouse her dulled senses.

_Two more days_.

* * *

><p>"Sleep well, Princess?"<p>

Cato was giving her his usual sneer as they stood together in the elevator, taking in the untamed hair she had thrown up in a dark bun and the purple shadows beneath her eyes that almost extended down to her cheeks. They hadn't seen each other at breakfast this morning- they both had private meetings with their mentors. Today was the third day of training and therefore, the private training sessions.

She was in no mood to deal with him.

"Go to hell," she snarled.

The training sessions were a chance for tributes to show their off their talents to the Game Makers and in turn receive a score that would be broadcasted to all of Panem. But as a District Two tribute, Clove's score would be much more than just a handsome number to attract sponsors. It would be a reflection of not only how vigilantly she had trained throughout the years, but of her academy, her sector, and the entirety of District Two. Tributes from her district weren't just expected to earn _high_ scores; they were expected to be _the highest_. The only thing that was more important than receiving a good score was winning the Hunger Games themselves.

In return for allowing tributes to participate in the games, an excellent score was a way of saying thank you to their district for granting them the honor and privilege.

However, Clove had more to prove than a normal District Two tribute did.

_Normal _District Two tributes were seventeen or eighteen._ Normal_ District Two tributes, even the girls, were massive in size and power. _Normal_ District Two tributes had brute force that showed in their very ascetics.

And here she stood, fifteen years old, with a small frame and short height; with freckled cheeks and a youthful face. Even at her reaping, the expressions of her peers had said it as she passed them on her way to the stage– _that_ was their female tribute this year?

But she was more than worthy.

Not only had she exceeded all the older girls in skill at her own academy, but she had exceeded all the girls in every academy that existed in her district. To be permitted to volunteer at the reaping wasn't easy. Several prospects were chosen from all fourteen sectors of the district then judged by a panel over the course of fourty days. It was vigorous work but in the end one male and one female best suited would be granted approval to participate in the games. For their districts reapings, names weren't even drawn anymore. They simply had Pallas- who had been their Capitol Escort for a decade now- step up on stage and call for the volunteers. No tribute that hailed from Two got to the Hunger Games by mistake.

However if she was to obtain anything other than a phenomenal score it wouldn't just bring shame to her district. It would bring dishonor to all the teachers she had had throughout the years and to her entire sector. It wasn't often that someone so young was allowed to represent a district that had made the Hunger Games a profession. As a matter of fact, Lyme had informed Clove just that morning that she was the youngest competitor to hail from their district in _forty-five years_.

To say that this was an important day for her was an understatement.

"That was rude of you," Cato responded, just in time for the elevator doors to open.

Even though they were district partners, in this they were competing against each other. While they had both hailed from District Two they were from entirely different sectors and therefore different academies; Clove from sector seven which was located in the most eastern part of the district, nearest the Capitol, and Cato from sector twelve which was to the north. Whereas Clove had spent her life among rich cobbled streets and aristocrats, Cato had spent his life among stone masons and mountain wilderness. While her academy was known for producing mostly peace keepers, his academy was known for producing brutal tributes. And as for his sector, well, they were known for even more than that. Clove had heard many things about sector twelve- stories of rabid barbarians with almost no law, a land where a scuffle over property could quickly be turned into a vicious, deadly fight. They used to say that natural selection actually still took place among humans there; the small and weak would be killed before they could reproduce, and the ones who were physically strong would mate and keep the sector going. It's no wonder Cato was such a brute.

When they stepped into the training center the first pair they saw was Marvel and Glimmer who, upon eye contact, turned their backs to them.

The small rivalry between Clove and Cato to get the best score to represent their_ sector_ had nothing on the overall competition to the get the best scores to represent all of Two. This was crucial in winning the support of Panem and honor for their district- proving that they were better than the others. Though, almost every year the tributes of Districts One, Two and Four were nearly equal. Clove couldn't recall a games where a tribute from one of the lesser districts earned a score higher than these three.

Cato was snickering at the sight of Marvel and Glimmer who were taking every measure possible to shun them as they walked past.

"Did Brutus tell you about them too?" Clove asked.

"Yeah," said Cato. "Doesn't surprise me though. _Frilly little pricks_."

Apparently it was custom for District One tributes to out rightly ignore every other tribute on the day of private training sessions- including those in their pack. It was some stupid way of showing superiority, Clove guessed. It didn't mean an alliance was broken. It was just district tradition.

District Two didn't need such nonsense. They're preeminence came from just a name.

Fish Head approached them; jittering with so much energy he was nearly bouncing off the walls, as usual. The boy was like a damn puppy. However, the sandy blonde head of his partner could be seen bobbing past, heading straight for Glimmer's station.

"Ah, Finnick told her not to talk to them," Fish Head said.

They watched as Marina leaned against the rack of various swords with a smile on her face that couldn't possibly have been more of a guise. Glimmer's back was too them but Clove was sure the expression wasn't returned.

When Marina came over to where they stood, the smile had turned to a sneer.

"What?" she asked innocently in response to their inquisitive looks. "I just wanted to say hello."

Perhaps the little sea slug had more fire than Clove had thought. Either way it wouldn't make killing her any less desirable.

* * *

><p>Training was vicious that day.<p>

The other tributes might as well have been invisible. The tension between the careers was so tangible Clove could almost feel it around her as she walked. And the others could too. She noticed Cato glancing at Marvel after making a vicious display of hacking the all of limbs off a dummy in less than a minute. She noticed Marvel smiling obnoxiously to himself after spearing the bulls eye of a target over twenty yards away. Glimmer flicked her eyes to Clove when she thought she wasn't looking. Even Marina, who must have been feeling_ awfully_ gutsy today, made a point to sneer at Clove after pulling her usual harpoon trick.

This was enough to make Clove laugh. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid little sea slug.

Those blue eyes of hers were going to get carved right out of their sockets in a matter of days.

Clove was next in line for hand-to-hand combat training, which to her pleasure, was located in the center of the coupling of stations all occupied by her fellow _Careers._

This would show them.

At the sight of her, the tall male instructor waved over a woman from another station. But Clove shook her head.

"No," she said. "I want you."

The instructor eyed her.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," he said hesitantly.

"I_ said_," Clove repeated slowly. "I want you."

"Alright," the trainer quipped at her disrespect. "Very well then."

In her years at the academy, she learned a little something about the pressure points of the human body that was valuable enough to make up for her small size and light weight. It was her hidden talent – maybe she couldn't knock her victims down with sheer force, but she could get them to the ground through a series of sharp attacks to concentrated areas with just her hands, and then keep them pinned down for almost as long as she pleased. If her precision was particularly spot on, she could even stun some of her victims.

She was a scorpion- lethal, quick, poisonous.

Why was she_ ever_ even nervous about her performance today? When it came, she would be _perfect._

But for now, she performed for her allies.

The trainer took his stance before her but his posture was all wrong. He was already making mistakes.

She zeroed in on several parts of his body and the diagram from her days in the academy came to life before her eyes.

A bead of sweat that dripped down his collar bone. _Subclavian_. A flexed muscle in his arm. _Brachial_. A turf of red hair covering his ears along the side of his jaw. _Superfical temporal_. The blue waistband of his shorts. _Iliaca_. The inner most portion of his hair ridden thigh. _Femoral_.

"Now, we're going to take it slow so- _AGH_!"

Before he could even finish his sentence she made her attack. Two index fingers to his pelvic area was all it took to kick his legs out from underneath him. She held her hands around his arms, pushing down on the sensitive spots beneath them. Her feet were on his thighs, her body arched like a hissing cat.

"What?" she asked coyly.

He pushed her off him and positioned himself again, more alert now.

"Well," he said in a low voice only she could hear. "Looks like someone's a professional."

The districts weren't technically 'allowed' to have academies. But everyone knew they existed. The other districts knew they existed- that's why they all referred to tributes from One, Two and Four as 'Careers.' The Capitol knew they existed. The president himself had made an appearance at her academy once when she was just a little girl.

So why the trainer had such distaste in his voice when he nearly spit the words at her, she wasn't sure. Maybe because she humiliated him. Or maybe it was because he had some sort of ties to one of the lesser districts. It didn't matter to her ether way.

The second time, because he was expecting it, he was harder to take down. He immediately grabbed her right arm but before he could get a hold on her left she was able to shove two fingers into the pressure point on the upper side of his jaw– _superfical temporal._ Then with a swift kick into his_ fermoral_, he was down again.

She managed to pin him three more times after that, and though not consecutively, it was still quite the accomplishment considering he was at least twice her size.

The shocked faces surrounding her certainly thought so. Some belonged to trainers, some belonged to tributes. She had gained quite the audience.

Their fear, it was_ exhilarating_.

Fish Head had out rightly dropped his knife and gapped at her in a way that was worthy of his nickname. Marina turned her head as soon as Clove made eye contact but she had not missed the girl's teeth biting down onto her lip. Marvel was focused on the target at his station- maybe a bit too focused. Glimmer was analyzing her through narrowed eyes.

When she found Cato, his expression wasn't like the others. He was _smiling_.

Not only was he not at a station, he wasn't even pretending to be busy with something. He was standing maybe ten yards away from her with his arms crossed. His head was tilted to the side as if he had been watching a curious street performance, and he leaned with his back to a wall. His posture was completely relaxed. But his eyes said something else entirely.

The intensity in those icy orbs could smother her.

Suddenly he didn't look so relaxed anymore. The rising and falling of his chest, the fingers digging into the flesh of his biceps, the teeth clenched beneath his smile…

She had to break her eyes away. But even as she turned from the trainer and moved onto another station, she still felt elated. Something was pulsating inside her body and electricity seemed to run through her veins. She was high off those eyes.

* * *

><p>"<em>District 2- female"<em>

The automated voice rang through the speakers in the dining hall. Clove rose to her feet with assurance.

Hopefully the Game Makers were ready. It was too bad the best show of the night would have to come so soon.

Cato was strolling out of the training center as she entered. He looked cocky but really, what could he have done that was so special? Hacked up a few dummies probably. Nothing they hadn't seen some big Career do before.

"Don't slice your fingers off," he whispered as they brushed shoulders.

_Bastard_.

The Game Makers were all aligned in their purple robs at the head of the center. They sat with attention, some with hands folded, some murmuring to each other. Cato's performance must have been a good one. The head Game Maker sat in the front. He nodded at her.

After a curt nod in return she turned on her heal and marched to the weapon rack.

_Oh._

It was such a sight to behold; knives and swords and axes of all kinds mounted on midnight velvet and glistening in the dim light as a pool of water would beneath the silver moon. She would have stayed there for moments longer, running her fingers across the different blades, admiring the superior craftsmanship, but she had a purpose here.

With a belt of fine knives latched to her hips, she took center stage. The Game Makers eyed her with curiosity. Good, she had their attention.

An army of human torsos stood before her. She took her stance.

Earlier in the day, she and Lyme planned out the entire demonstration. There would be three deadly acts.

The first act was speed.

Her knives sheared through the thin air as each of them landed directly into their targets. There was never a moment when less than two were in the air at once- another was thrown before the first even had time to reach its destination. In seven seconds, twelve sad torsos stood defeated on their stands before her, each with a knife in the heart.

Some of the Game Makers were nodding but most sat still. They weren't monumentally impressed but that was fine. She didn't expect them to be at this point.

"Can they move?" she asked, sure to add sweetness into her voice.

At this many of the Game Makers began to nod their heads and make noises. The Head Game maker – she was pretty sure his last name was Crane, made a motion to the side of the room. Several personnel stepped out, removing the torsos and placing full bodied dummies on lines drawn into the floor.

"Thank you," she said, and she was sure she had never sounded so gracious in her entire life.

The second act was precision.

She stepped back even further than she had been before. The dummies began to move in all different directions. Some were rapid, some were slow.

No matter what the actual speed was she saw them stand still as time slowed down. One solid breath rang through her ears. Her fingers gripped the first knife.

Glimmer was sprinting past her, the quickest of them all. _Thwack._ District Twelve was moving toward the back, her dark braid flying through the air. _Thwack._ The red head from Five was making circles around the rest. _Thwack._ Marina who had watched the others go down was running away from her, terrified. _Thwack_. The boy from Eleven was trying to protect his little friend. _Thwack. Thwack._

Only one was left. She paused.

Cato was charging right at her, his sword high in the air.

One arm swung across her body and with force the final knife flew right into his head.

The hum of whispers brought her attention back to the Game Makers. They were speaking to each other with excitement. They leaned on the edges of their seats. Even Crane sat with elbows on his knees and chin resting in his hands, watching her with intent.

She had them right where she wanted them.

"Circle?" she asked.

Crane nodded and motioned to the personnel again.

The third act was agility.

Now the plastic bodies moved around her, a great distance from each other. Her eyes closed.

When they opened she was in an arena she had seen one year. It was actually quite beautiful – a wide opened field made up entirely of tall lavender plants. It was a sea of purple. Most of the tributes that year didn't even move off their plates right away, they were completely stunned.

Despite its beauty though, it had to have been one of the deadliest Hunger Games she had ever watched. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

_3… 2… 1._

She took off and immediately thrust a knife into her first opponent- the boy from five. Next was Brutus, coming at her with a raised club. She dodged it with a roll to the ground and appeared behind him, digging a knife into his back. There was Glimmer again, charging at her this time. Clove avoided the swing of her sword and got her in the stomach. She turned on a dime and quickly launched a knife into the throat of Pallas who just stood dumbly on the field. Beside him was Lyme-

No, wait. It wasn't Lyme. No, no. Lyme wasn't here.

It was the girl from eight. Right, that's who it was. The stupid, sniffling girl from eight. Another knife shot through the air and landed in her left eye. She turned. The boy from seven was after her now, swinging the axe he must have been able to wield from birth. She ducted out of its way, evading it by just a hair. Then she jumped on his back, letting out the cry of an animal as she sliced her knife across his neck.

Time had stopped. The lavender plants still swayed back and forth.

She heard breathing. Her own breathing. She heard a heartbeat. Her own heartbeat.

Breathe. Relax. Relax.

Clapping.

The gray walls of the training center came back into focus first. Then the orange glow of the lighting fixture. Then the buzz of voices.

The private training session. The Game Makers. Right.

Almost all of them were on their feet now. Some parted their mouths in shock. They looked at her, looked at each other. Most were smiling. They were delighted. Crane's eyes were wide. A smile was spread across his face.

She had been right.

_A perfect performance_.

"Thank you," she said, with a dip of her head.

* * *

><p>It was late in the evening when Clove and Cato sat stiffly side by side on the couch surrounded by their chattering prep teams, stylists, mentors and of course Capitol Escort, all waiting for their training scores to be broadcasted. The whole party had come for this.<p>

Normally their stylists stayed away. They were two women- long, tall, and waif-like with surgically altered cheek bones and tattoos around their eyes. Being from District Two, Cato and Clove had the privilege of having two of the most elite designers in the entire Capitol as their stylists. The only tributes who had an even better pair was District One's, but that was too be expected since there's was the only district aside from the Capitol that cared for something so fickle as fashion.

Right now they were chattering angrily about District Twelve. Clove could smell the odd scent of wine and mothballs coming from her stylist. Her name was Faun.

"-_Cinna_. I don't even understand where he came from. It was awfully bold, what he did. Maybe a little too bold for a new comer," she was hissing in her deep voice. "Don't get me wrong, they're costumes were nice. But the concept seemed a little silly to me. And now they're calling that one little girl- oh what was her name? Ah, yes _Katfish_, they're calling her 'The Girl on Fire.' But really, being on _fire?_ To me it just-"

Clove tuned out of that conversation quickly. Pallas stood near the television screen, looking nervous as usual._ Why_ was he always so jittery? Their colorful prep teams were all over the place, jumping at the commands of the stylists, bouncing from corner to corner in the room. They were over whelming to look at.

Their mentors both were mounted behind them. Lyme stood still, her eyes focused on the screen though it was only playing Capitol commercials at the time. Brutus was a bit more animated- making jokes at Pallas, laughing loudly, drinking spirits.

But no one else was seated on the couch besides Cato and Clove. The two didn't look at each other, they didn't speak. They just stared into the television.

Suddenly the emblem of the Capitol came onto the screen. Lyme turned up the volume, though nothing is played throughout the broadcasting besides the anthem. It's the same every year- the anthem plays, a picture of the tribute appears on the screen, alongside their gender and district seal with their score flashing below.

Marvel was first. He received a ten.

Brutus's reaction mirrored Clove's thoughts.

"_Fucking shit_," he grumbled. Cato's fists clenched. This was bad for them. If Glimmer got the same score, One would have a combined total of twenty.

But this was not the case. To Clove's extreme pleasure when Glimmer's face came onto the screen, beneath it flashed the number eight- a fairly low score for a Career.

Clove held her breath now. They were next.

Brutus clasped his hands onto Cato's shoulders and gave him a little shake as both their eyes locked in on the screen.

Cato received a ten.

Immediately he let out a whoop. Brutus pounded his fist with a dull _thud _into Cato's chest and shouted "_Ah ha_!"

Clove felt Lyme's warm hand creep onto her shoulder as her image appeared on the screen.

_Ten_.

Well it wasn't higher than Cato's and there were already three of them who had received that score now, but still, it was good. She didn't do shame to her district. Maybe it wasn't the _single_ highest score, but it was still the highest. And surely the other tributes wouldn't top a ten- she doubted even District Four's would. They're biggest competition had already passed.

Her flashing ten had silenced Cato and Brutus's cheers.

When she craned her neck to meet the face of her mentor, her score continued to seem like more and more of an accomplishment. Clove nearly twitched when Lyme playfully ruffled her hair- a gesture she would have never expected from the brooding, stoic woman.

"You showed them," she whispered.

Naturally, such a rough touch arroused a tinge of violence in Clove. But she stifled it because it was about to be directed towards Lyme.

She now turned to Cato and was sure to sneer at him. His expression was icy despite the sarcastic smirk he displayed.

"Guess we're even," he said.

"Yeah," said Clove. "Guess so."

The prep teams were all clapping and cheering. Pallas looked like he was breathing. Brutus was demanding avoxs to bring him whiskey.

The District Fours were on the screen now. Fish Head had only received an eight, and Marina had a surprising nine. Still, it didn't beat them.

"Ah," Faun sighed. "This means we have the highest scores this year!"

Clove felt good now. The initial reaction to her score was partially from her overly critical, somewhat cynical nature. A ten was good. Though both she and Cato had received it, it wasn't necessarily a standard score for a District Two tribute. And it showed her worth. She _wasn't _to be underestimated. She was dangerous. She would be competition. And she had brought honor to her district. Her thoughts trailed vaguely to the academy- her old teachers nodding their heads in approval, pointing to their televisions, telling the younger students to take note.

She had brought pride back to sector seven. Lyme was right. She _had_ showed them. She had showed them all.

Clove was so wrapped up in herself, she almost missed it. If it hadn't been for Brutus shouts or his fists shaking the couch with enough force to send her flying off it, she might have. But there it was, right on the screen.

The seal of District Twelve. The girl with a stone face and olive skin. And the eleven flashing beneath her name.

* * *

><p>"<em>WHAT<em>?" Clove shrieked. She shot up off the couch like a bullet.

An eleven? The girl from District Twelve – the poorest, _filthiest_, most pathetic district in all of Panem, got a score higher than her?

The wooden coffee table was suddenly screeching across the floor, flipped on its side. It contents shattered into sharp shards. Cato was snarling.

"_That little fucking bitch_!"

Were the god damn Game Makers _blind_? Was this a joke?

Clove had not trained for over half her life to be upstaged by a dirty little provincial who belonged back where she came from- living in a shack and rolling around in _shit_.

Her district, her honor, everything suddenly went up in flames. Rage swelled in her body. It was a living breathing thing that consumed her from time to time. It was an entity, a monster, an old friend. And it was everywhere now. In her throbbing veins, in her trembling lips, in her shaking hands, in her rigid legs.

Unlike Cato who now had his fist through a wall, it didn't possess her. Rather it simmered and burned as she kept it all inside.

_That girl_ was going to _die_.

Not in just any way though. No. She deserved something _special_.

Once Clove had skinned a pig back home. It was alive as she did it. The beast cried and squealed as it desperately tried to kick its way out from her grip. Its bulging brown eyes pleaded with her in a language that needed no translation. But she continued to tear away the slimy layers of its yellow flesh, each new layer of skin more red than the last.

What would _that_ be like on the girl from Twelve? What would her screams sound like? What would her olive skin look like as it peeled away from her face? Would it be yellow like the pig? Maybe greenish? When would she begin to bleed? It took a long time for the pig. Not until she had reached the pulsing, veiny, pink of its muscle tissue did trickles of blood seep from pockets of white fat…

The room had erupted into chaos. Cato seemed to break something new each time a fresh wave of anger rolled over him. Brutus was bellowing at nothing. Pallas was agonizing over the hole in the wall. The stylists and prep teams were standing off to the sides, trying not to get into anyone's way. Then Lyme was marching over to Cato and restraining him.

Clove took a moment to assess the damage. The table whose scratches now made crude lines across the floor. The jagged, black hole that gapped at them like a mouth in the wall.

After staring into the black void of the hole, the rest of the night was lost to her. People were speaking to her, walking past her. At some point she had ended up in her bed. But her mind had become an impenetrable wall that blocked out absolutely everything around her so within its confines only one name could fuel the smoldering fire.

_Katniss. Katniss. Katniss._

* * *

><p><strong>Awwwwwww SNAP. Nothing like a pissed off Clove to ruin your day! Once again tell me what you guys thought. Notice Clove's inability to hate Lyme? Or the increasing fricition between the Careers (though with Katniss's score that might change!)? The games are coming up soon... which means the only thing left are the interviews… which should be interesting, no? Tehehehehehehehehe ;)<strong>


	6. Monsters and Marionettes

**For those of you who enjoy visuals I have the dress I envisioned Clove wearing for her interviews: **h t t p : / / i m a g e s h a c k . u s / p h o t o / m y - i m a g e s / 1 4 / m i l a s e l i e s a a b s s 1 1 . j p g / **(You're going to have to take out the spaces)**

**Clove, Cato, Brutus, Lyme, Katniss, Peeta and the whole crew belong to the ever talented, ever wonderful Suzanne Collins. I can't deny that I loathe this chapter for some reason. Ether way hope ya'll enjoy. ALSO WARNING: language language language.**

**(P.S.) Had to go back and edit some things. Gah. Sorry.**

**ALSO one last thing: I wanted to try something alittle different. My favorite author here on (the incredibly talented Petite Cherie****whose amazing story on Finnick and Annie was what inspired me to write my own) always includes incorperates songs into her writting. I write most of this to my own ltitle soundtrack so I'm going to try it out. I know I already published this but anyone who is reading this for the first time/comes back to reread this chapter, tell me what you think! And yes I know Bassnectar isn't everyone's forte so please let me know!**

* * *

><p><em>Hold your sadness like a puppet <em>  
><em>Keep putting on the play.<br>_  
><em>But everything you do is leading to the point <em>  
><em>Where you just won't know what to do.<br>_  
><em>And at that moment you may laugh <em>  
><em>But there is someone there who will be laughing louder than you.<em>

- Sunrise Sunset, Bright Eyes

**6.**

It was two o' clock in the morning, but Brutus knew where to find him.

The lights of the elevator assaulted his eyes. They were too bright. The labels on the keys seemed to be letters rather than numbers- but he knew this couldn't be right; he hadn't drank that much liquor. But he _had _drank enough to have difficulty deciphering the symbols. The elevator doors had long been closed when he finally managed to pound the button labeled_ 12_.

All was quite in the dark corridor the doors revealed when they opened. Brutus stood still until he heard the muffled sound of clinking and a light came into focus somewhere down the hall. He followed it.

The battered man he had been looking for sat alone and sullen in a room meant for avoxs, allowing a bottle of liquor to control his torments.

Brutus had known him for some years. They were victors- they had mentored together. Though it was hard to say whether or not the man absolutely despised him, considering Brutus's tributes seemed to kill his every year.

"Haymitch, my old friend."

The unexpected voice was enough to provoke Haymitch to jump out of his barstool, sending it flying several feet behind him, and slash a knife through the air a few times before realization spread across his face. His blood-shot gray eyes narrowed.

"What are the_ fuck_ are you doing here, Brutus?" he slurred. As usual he was inebriated. Maybe more so than usual.

"Funny story, actually," Brutus said. "A few hours ago I had the pleasure of dealing with the owner of the building over the finical expenses that resulted when my tribute punched a fucking hole clear through our wall. So to get rid of the headache, I had a few drinks. But then the cabinet downstairs ran a bit dry."

Haymitch took another swig. When the bottle pounded onto the table with a _thud_ he said in a smart voice, "You could have just ordered more."

"Well maybe I wanted the company," Brutus said.

For several minutes they both held their ground; Brutus, standing the doorway, Haymitch glaring at him from where he sat at the table. After a beat he lifted the bottle in the direction of the barstool on the opposing side of him and poured liquor into a heavy glass. He slid it to Brutus.

"That was quite a reaping for you this year," Brutus said.

The only sound he received in response was Haymitch's gulping. Then he waved his hand, dismissing the comment. "Please, let's get to the real reason why-"he paused to release a burp that sounded as though it may have brought something other than gas with it, "-you're here."

Brutus decided which approach he wanted to take. Silence swept over them again.

"How did she do it?" he finally asked.

Haymitch's smile was dark. "You really think I'm going to tell you that?"

Brutus felt his temper flare, so instead of acting on it he leaned away from the table and threw his head back to dump the contents of the glass down his throat. It was strong. It was really strong. Haymitch didn't fuck around.

When he opened his mouth to exhale the air of the room felt cool. Instantly the haze before his eyes thickened.

"Wasn't sure what I thought," he said, his head leaning to the side with a harsh _crack_. "It's just such a turn around. Usually your tributes come out with what? A four… a three… this year you have not only an eight but an _eleven_."

"First time for everything," Haymitch said. "Usually your tributes don't go punching holes through walls."

Silence again. The men both sat back slightly, staring lazily at each other through half open eyes. Brutus eventually leaned his body onto the table. He was smiling.

"Yours are going to die, Haymitch."

Haymitch let out a burst of harsh laughter. Then he pounded his fist into the table and opened his eyes wide. His gray orbs were simmering. His teeth were clenched beneath his smile. "_No shit_. Isn't that the game? Twenty-three of those tributes are going to die." The bottle was at his lips again.

"Oh no, no, no I should have been more specific," Brutus said. "My tributes want their blood. No- maybe I should say they want _her _blood. It'll be quite the show when they catch her. You should have seen the fire in my boy's eyes when he saw that eleven."

Haymitch remained unfazed as he sloshed around the bottle in his hand. "I'm sure there was quite a bit in yours too," he said.

Brutus was taken aback by this, even in his slowed state.

"Maybe," he smiled. "Doesn't really matter how I felt about it though. I'm not going to be in that arena. Regardless, this should be an interesting games this year… for both of us."

Haymitch was focused on something in the wood work of the table. A grin slowly spread across his face until he was beaming from cheek to cheek.

"Ah but isn't it always, Brutus?" he said.

Then he suddenly became hysterical, as giddy as a child. His manic laughter vibrated off the walls of the room. It rang off the pots and pans hanging above the sink. It drowned out Brutus as he thanked him for the drink and pushed away from the table. It followed him down the dark hallway and back to the elevator. It followed him all the way to the second floor.

* * *

><p>Even though she didn't dream, Clove still saw things when she slept. Often they were memories- memories from the day, memories from a long time ago, reoccurring thoughts. Though they were always quick to disappear.<p>

Her rests, when they came, would be a few hours of her body succumbed to relaxation, while she drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she would be roused by the sound of her own voice, sometimes it would be the sounds of other voices, real and imaginary. That night she saw pictures carved into a gray wall.

A rain cloud, a tree, monsters, children, mommy, horses, an angel, a house, a spider, a demon.

Then she saw another wall. This wall was blue. And this wall wasn't blurry; it was crisp and detailed. This wall was real, it was her celling. The celling of her temporary room. She was in the Capitol, waiting for the Hunger Games.

_One more day_.

She sat up in her bed.

Today was the last day. Tomorrow she would be in the arena.

She knew sleep would not come back to her now, so she stood up and began to pace her room. Tomorrow would be everything. Everything she had been training for her entire life. Excitement began to bubble somewhere deep in her stomach and suddenly it had flooded her entire body. She couldn't contain herself. Her heart raced, her feet moved one in front of the other quicker and quicker.

Who would she kill first? Did it matter? No, no it didn't. Because she would be_ killing_. The feeling, the feeling, _oh _how she craved to feel it now. How desperate she was to know how it would _feel_.

Her hands balled into fists. There was no point in taking a shower. Today there would be plenty of colorful hands eager to bathe her. Eager to create their little doll to present to the Capitol. Interviews were tonight.

Clove cared for none of it.

All of it was just a distraction. She didn't care what the Capitol thought of her now. The training scores only had mattered so she could repay her district, and now, nothing more was owed. Now it was only _her_ wants and _her_ desires that mattered. And she wanted to get into that arena.

It could have been hours, it could have been years that she paced that floor. At some point a fist was pounding on her door and she was bathed in cauliflower blue light.

_Just one more day_.

* * *

><p>Men dressed in gray were working to fill the hole in the wall with something thick and blue. They're white gloves ran over it again and again, coaxing it to close. Clove watched it shut like the eye of a sleeping giant.<p>

"Be careful!" Pallas quipped. He pointed one accusing, stubby finger. "Don't move to hastily. I want that job done, right!"

And then the little man, dressed this morning like a ball of candy, turned his beady eyes to glare at Cato. They're Capitol escort had been in a particularly bad mood after the little stunt the boy had pulled last night. He wasn't attempting to hide his distaste in them any longer.

Clove realized that her district partner must have not slept very well last night. There seemed to be permanent shadows in the creases of his mouth and in the hallows of his cheeks. The tiniest blue veins were visible beneath his eyes. They struck Clove- these veins. No matter how thick his skin may be elsewhere, it was still so delicate under his eyes. It was hard to think anything about Cato was delicate, but he was a human being, and all humans have such thin, thin skin beneath their eyes.

He was using a spoon to mix whatever filled his cup, making a hypnotic _clink, clink, clink _noise that only stopped when he realized Clove's eyes were on him. He immediately froze and trapped her in his glare. His mouth made a hard line.

She looked away.

"Alright," Lyme sighed from her corner of the table. "We only have until mid-afternoon to ready you two for the interviews tonight. Then the rest of the day will be handed over to your stylists. Clove, finish up your food quickly."

When she stood up to follow her, Lyme led her to her a small room on their floor lined with books. As usual, her mentor cut right to the chase. Clove had barely sat down when she said, "You need an image. We are going to have to sell you to the Capitol."

"I don't care if they like me," Clove hissed.

"Oh but you will," Lyme said. "And you have two options: Care about it now, or care about it in the arena when you are dying from starvation."

Clove tightened her jaw, but let go of her pride and swallowed the words her mouth threatened to let go.

"That's what I thought. Now maybe you don't want to hear this but you aren't the usual District Two tribute. You are rather small. It'll be easy for people to overlook you. So we are going to have to portray you in a light where they_ can't_. We all know what approach Cato is going to use."

Lyme didn't even have to say it. Yes they all knew what Cato was going to be for the Capitol. He stood out as the brutal, violent killer this year. He was going to get many sponsors. And he wouldn't even need to really 'play' anything. His very real arrogance alone would be enough for them; they would eat it up like bugs on rotten fruit.

"But for you I want to do something that isn't subtle but doesn't depict you as cocky. You are a girl, and you are young. Faun is going to make you look beautiful-"

Clove saw a mental image of herself dressed in tulle, giggling and blowing kisses to the Capitol. "I'm_ not_ going to be Glimmer," she snapped.

Lyme immediately stopped talking and dug her eyes into Clove. The message to shut up was clear.

"We're going to have to fix that attitude of yours," she said after a moment. "I had a girl one year who took that approach and I've never seen a tribute from our district come out with fewer sponsors. No one wants to see a little brat."

Clove bravely glared at her for a moment more, but after exhaling Lyme continued.

"You are going to be dangerous," she said with finality.

Clove considered this. _Dangerous. _The word was repeated in her mind and she began to like the sound of it more and more. If she had to be put on a show for the ignorant little beasts, she didn't mind playing this part.

"Let them know you are a force to be reckoned with. You are going to be strong and sure. Don't laugh too much; don't give out too many smiles. But don't be a stone and don't be distant. Don't be humble but don't be overly confident. Be threatening but don't act conceded. Assert yourself with a presence that won't be forgotten. Already the crowds know of you. So far your image is good- your score was one of the highest-"

Clove's hands balled into fists at this. She didn't want to talk about the training scores. She didn't even want them to be mentioned. Lyme must have noticed this because she had trailed off from what she had been saying.

"Listen to me," she said sternly. "We don't know what happened in that training center yesterday. It could have been anything. But you need to remember something: you are from Two, _she_ is from Twelve. _Don't _let her get to you. This can be handy advice for the arena too."

Now Lyme is crouched down on one knee in front of her, with her eyes set deep into Clove's.

"Keep a level head," she said. "The second you let anger get the best of you, it could be the end of everything. You understand?"

To say her anger got the best of her would imply that it didn't have a constant influence on everything she did. It was her fuel. It was her motivation. It provoked every thought that she had. And it never left. It had already destroyed her from the inside out. But it was a part of her. And it was something that she certainly couldn't control.

But she nodded her head in agreement anyway.

The next few hours were spent with Lyme training her how to speak and answer questions in a way that suited the angle she would be taking. They worked on her insolence, which was difficult to fix. Lyme had her walk across the room several times with powerful footsteps and taught her how to straighten her back without puffing her chest out. They practiced interviewing together though this didn't go completely well due to Lyme's inability to get creative with questions. At some point Clove couldn't handle holding back anymore.

"I don't care about getting sponsors," she snarled, nearly jumping away from Lyme. "I don't care for their gifts. I don't need them to save me. I don't care if they want me to win. I don't even care if I win."

Lyme's features were suddenly ablaze with fury. Clove had never seen so much emotion displayed on her face.

"You don't care to win?" she barked, her voice echoing off the walls. "Then why are you here?"

For a moment Clove couldn't find her words. Her mentor's unbreakable stare was sure to melt her. It took what seemed an eternity to build up enough courage to open her mouth again. But her answer was honest.

"I want to play," she said.

They sat in silence for a long time after that. Lyme's expression turned to stone and when it did Clove couldn't look at her anymore. She focused in on a piece of paint that seemed like it would come off the wall soon, somewhere behind Lyme's left shoulder.

Eventually though, she spoke again.

"You make sure that interview goes well if only for the teachers and authorities who surely put their asses on the line to get you here," she said. Then she stood to leave the room but before she did, she turned her head slightly while keeping her back to Clove and added in a concentrated voice:

"Don't drop everything and put their time and effort to waste."

And then Lyme was gone. Clove stayed alone in the room, noticing dully how most of its warmth had been taken along with her.

* * *

><p>"Oh, Hun, you really need to brush you hair more often."<p>

Clove's colorful, tittering prep team had strapped her arms and legs onto a chair and now a green hand was holding down her forehead as they used some strange device that pulled on her hair and caused it to smoke. Occasionally it would burn her scalp. This surely had to be some form of torture. Perhaps she would have been a little better off if she hadn't tried to attack one of the members of her prep team. At least then she wouldn't have been restrained.

For hours now they had been preparing her like a fine piece of meat. They had rubbed strange creams into her entire body and caked powers of all kinds onto her face that itched unbelievably. Her eyelashes had been assaulted to the highest degree, for they felt entirely heavy on her lids and her vision had a solid roof of black now. They had blown sparkles onto her face. They painted something cold onto her lips.

The door of the room opened to reveal her stylist, Faun. Her dramatic heels clicked as she made her way across the abnormally white marble floor. As usual, a long pink stick lay lazily in between her fingers, and out of it came billows of smoke as she occasionally brought it to her mouth and puffed on it. Clove had never seen anything quite like it before, but it had an oddly natural odor especially coming from a person whose entire body may have been genetically modified

Seeing Clove restrained brought a smirk to her yellow lips. "Misbehaving again, dear?"

Clove_ loathed _this woman.

In response she glared at her. A voice from the opposing corner of the room shrieked, "She attacked me with tweezers, Faun!"

Faun rolled her eyes. "Well that's why you _wax_ first and ask questions later. Now _get out._ All of you."

With a clap of her hands a dozen rainbow, artificial creatures scrambled to the door like cockroaches from light.

"Now," Faun said, running a long brightly colored fingernail along Clove's jaw- just out of biting range. "I had a little talk with your mentor about your approach for the interview. You're dress is going to match it _perfectly_."

She took a step back and waved her hands through the air which left eerie billows of smoke in their wake. "If you are going for danger then it would only be suiting to portray you as something powerful, something_ immortal_. A creation of beauty, direct from the heavens themselves. An ancient being that isn't bound to humanly measures of time and space, life and death: a_ Goddess_."

A smile appeared on her lips as she searched Clove's eyes for some form of excitement at her words. But there was nothing. Instantly the smile became a grimace.

"You're enthusiasm is simply killing me, darling," she said and then her eyes narrowed. "I'm going to unleash you. But before you do anything hasty let me just remind you that there are cameras here, watching you're every move. And _I _am a high-ranking citizen of this fine Capitol. Whereas you, well, in less than twenty four hours you will be scrambling around in blood and dirt."

Her obvious fear brought a smile to Clove's face. "Oh but I wouldn't dare," she sneered.

How Clove wished her gracious stylist would be in that arena tomorrow.

Sometime after she had been unbound, wrestled into a casing of garments and squeezed into heels, she was able to step before the mirror.

When she did she saw a strange creature trapped inside. It gazed at her with interest beneath thick, black eyelashes. Flecks of gold were placed in an intricate but subtle pattern along the corner of its eyes and its eyebrows were dark perfectly shaped arcs. The skin of its face could have been silk, flawless and matte without a single freckle to blemish its soft cheeks. A long cape of hair as black as oil flowed across one of its fair shoulders, detailed with strings of braids.

The creature played with the fabric of the dress that incased it- the color of a fresh lilac petal. It ran a hand across the small half-moons of its pale breasts beneath two sheaths of lace connected to a neckline that swooped gracefully but daringly low. And then another across the bare skin of its hips and thighs which peaked through cascades of lace that rippled down its sides. Its painted lips curled up.

This unearthen beauty wasn't her. It wasn't mortal. It _was_ a goddess.

And it was also much, much older than fifteen.

Oh wouldn't Lyme be so pleased with what her stylist had created? Together, Clove and this thing would attract _many_ sponsors tonight.

The first proof she got of this came after Faun had rushed her into the hallway where she found herself standing before Cato.

Upon sight of her, his face slipped into several different expressions very rapidly. First his eyebrows rose with surprise, then his eyes narrowed; perhaps in realization that her ascetics tonight would be enough to give him competition for the favor of the crowds. But then his features settled into something that took her a moment to understand. When the corners of his lips tugged into a smile, it wasn't because he was sneering. His eyes lingered on her every curve. Then when they seemed to lie on her chest she was able to decipher the expression.

Hunger.

He was looking rather dashing though, wasn't he? The jacket he wore was tailored outstandingly. It outlined his broad shoulders and clung to the right spots in his arms. The gray shirt beneath it was unbuttoned just enough, exposing the flesh of his chest. His dark blonde hair, originally cut close to the scalp, had grown in quite a bit since they had arrived and was styled a bit messy but in an entirely sexy way…

She interrupted her own train of thought. Sexy? Did she really just relate _Cato_ to the word sexy? She took a moment to decide the outrageousness of this statement.

Well he was very masculine. Once she had seen the exposed upper half of his body illuminated by the sunlight coming in through the window of the train they had taken to the Capitol. It was like watching a living statue, sculpted to perfection- the kind that ancient artists once created to depict warriors or Gods. The defined muscles of his chest and abdomen were carved into smooth skin in a way that resembled stone. And his face wasn't exactly ugly. She looked at it now; the strong prominent jaw line, flawless high cheekbones that may have been drawn by intelligent hand of an artist, lips that were of the perfect shape…

Okay, so he could be sexy. That wouldn't make a difference in killing him. Maybe would make it even more enjoyable. She wondered if stabbing into his gut would have a similar sensation to cutting through a watermelon.

Despite these thoughts, Clove still grazed her hip against his upper thigh as she passed him.

* * *

><p>The interviews were to take place on the large stage facing the City Circle that stood before the building that held their training center and apartments. All twenty four tributes would be seated in an arc around Caesar, all able to watch each interview live. Clove and Cato were the last to arrive and immediately they were scrapped away from their stylists as soon as the doors of the elevator opened.<p>

They were shoved too quickly for Clove, who could hardly walk functionally in her heels, let alone at high speeds. But she passed something that slowed down commotion.

Well didn't she just look on_ fire_ tonight? Her gray eyes weren't looking at Clove, she seemed as confused and rushed as the rest of them. Her hair wasn't in its usual braid. Her face didn't look quite as hallow as it normally did. Oh how_ beautiful_ she was.

Katniss. Her sweet little Katniss.

She could smell her perfume, she was that close. So, so close. Close enough that not even an arm's length would be required to grab her throat…

Clove's hand had involuntarily moved from its side. However the girl was already gone. They were moving past the other tributes now, their bodies draped in garments and fabrics of all kinds and colors. Then they were finally deposited behind Marvel. Clove nearly toppled into him. When he turned to them, he eyed her with humor.

"Well, don't you two just clean up so nicely," he said.

Together, he and Glimmer almost represented District One too literally- Marvel with his exquisite sliver suit which almost seemed to be made out of metal. And Glimmer with her golden near-see through dress that hugged each curve of her body and matched her hair in color.

"Speak for yourselves," Cato said, though his eyes were focused in only on Glimmer, who was smirking at him with red lips.

But that was all they had time for because a man suddenly appeared before Glimmer and directed her, and therefore the rest of the line, onto the stage.

[**TURN ON _Falling_ by Bassnectar (feat. Paper Machete)**]

The first thing that Clove sensed was the night air which smacked her face with its cool burn. She vaguely acknowledged that this was the first time she had been outside sense volunteering at the reaping. Bright lights created a halo around the back of Marvel's already golden head and she followed it as mindlessly as a moth. Then the waves of screaming voices washed over her. They were unbelievably loud, almost mesmerizing. When her eyes adjusted to the blinding lights of the stage, she was able to see the source.

Thousands of people.

It was quite literally a sea. A sea speckled with cameras and flashing sparks of light. People flooded the floor, they hung off their balconies, they waved, they cheered. They're screams evaded into her mind, flooded through her body and took her away from the stage. She had taken just one step towards the sound, when a hand was dragging her into a seat with force. Bewildered she looked to her sides. Marvel was seated to her right and Cato, the forceful hand, was seated to her left and observing her with lowered eyebrows.

All the tributes were seated. Tonight they were all just puppets on strings, being pulled by their mentors and their stylists to entertain the masses of the Capitol.

Caesar was bounding onto the stage in an instant, colored in powder blue. This triggered the already incredibly loud level of sound from the audience to spike. Somewhere music began playing. The sound of trumpets ripped through the air.

And then the puppet show began. Everyone had a role to play.

Glimmer was first, the vixen.

One of the eldest of them all with the curves to match for it. She flounced onto the stage, swung her hips draped in liquid gold. Caesar kissed her hand. She pouted her cherry lips; let her seductive emerald orbs flicker to the Capitol men in the front row of the crowd. Her hands fluttered to playfully slap Caesars arm. The buzzer sounded. She was done.

Marvel strode to the stage now, the socialite.

The smooth pretty boy with superiority and preeminence. He had the crowds from the moment he took center stage. He managed to involve them in his answers to Caesar's questions in a display of flawless showmanship. He flashed them white smiles. When Caesar asked him if he thought he would have any tough competition, he turned to the tributes with a look of indifference and gave an exaggerated shrug. "I don't know Caesar," he sighed. "I_ think_ I can handle them all. But can we get a group census on this?" He motioned to the Circle and the roar of agreement began before Caesar even had a chance to ask, "What do you think folks? Do we have our victor here?"

They're screams continued even after the buzzer had sounded and Marvel had seated himself.

Once again the world began to move unrealistically slow. Caesar was raising his hands to the crowd that visibly rippled and pulsed as if it were in itself a single living unit. Super Novas sparked around him. For a moment she heard nothing but the words:

"Next up we have our first District Two tribute."

In this moment it wasn't the mask she wore that was the immortal, it was her. She rose from her seat. Powerful. Threatening.

"_Clove_!"

_Dangerous._

The immense sound of the crowd had almost become a visible entity as strong as the wind. She strode against it as she made her way to Caesar. The bright lights of center stage illuminated detail in everything bathed beneath them, including the small particles that hovered in the air around herself and Caesar. Up close she could see every pore of his face beneath the layers of white powder smeared across it, every crack in his blue lips. She was reminded of a monster.

Caesar complemented on her dress and Lyme's voice rang out in her mind: _no one likes a little brat_. She thanked him graciously.

They began deviling into questions about her chariot ride, about her stylist, about the perils of training. She kept her answers vague but was sure to add in perfectly played smirks when necessary. Her face appeared on all of the massive screens that hung from various buildings of the Circle. What she saw, everything that was happening, took on a surreal quality. Even her vision seemed cloudy.

The interview had completely passed her by and the end was nearing. But she knew what Caesar was saving for last.

"Now, we always love our District Two's. Don't we?" He turned to the crowd which roared in response. They continued as placed his focused back on her.

"Though I must say you are by far the youngest I've seen volunteer for your district in a long time. What aided in your decision to do so?"

Clove answered honestly. "I was ready to fight," she said.

The reaction from the crowd was immediate. They were cheering her on. Caesar let out a hardy laugh.

"You must be very excited for tomorrow then," he said.

"Yes," Clove said with a dark smile. "Yes, I am."

"Well, seeing you as you are, right now, I can't say I can imagine you harming a fly," he turned and talked to the crowds again. "I mean look at her? She's just beautiful isn't she?" They're screams of agreement followed. Caesar was back to her again, but he didn't have a question, he was waiting for a response.

She wanted to tell him she would throw him off this stage and break his artificial body until it was nothing more than a bloody puddle on the ground, but instead she said, "Looks can be deceiving." Now it was her turn to address the crowd. She turned to face them all, the ones in the front row, the ones hanging off their balconies, the ones sitting in front of their televisions throughout Panem.

"Because I'm deadly."

The sudden wall of noise that one statement alone ushered forth hit her with such force she felt as if she could have fallen over from it. They hooted and hollered. They stomped their feet. They seemed to almost be jumping over each other. They loved it. They loved their eager tributes. They loved the ones that made their show.

Caesar had to silence them to continue. "Ah ha! Yes! What a character you are my dear. Now our time is running short so just one last question. What do you have to say to your competition this year?"

The cameras focused in briefly on some of the faces behind her. What_ did_ she have to say to her competition? That she wanted to kill every last one of them herself? That she has been fantasizing about all the different ways she could slaughter them since the day she saw their faces? That she craved their blood, their suffering? That if she could she would turn around and destroy them all, right now?

Her lips curled into a smile and she repeated, "What would I say to them?"

For effect she looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of some of their faces. With sweetness in her voice she said, "_Good luck_."

Again the crowds roared only this time it was larger and louder than the last. Clove missed the buzzer. She could barely hear Caesar as he took her hand and lifted it in the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, the young, the beautiful, the deadly- Clove of District Two!"

When she had returned to her seat, the crowd was still going crazy enough that Caesar had to real them back in. They loved her. They loved the young, beautiful, deadly Clove. Beside her Marvel made a point to sneer, "That was cute." But before she could make a snide comment in return, Cato was being called to the stage.

Cato, the merciless slayer.

He didn't even have to say anything for the crowds to go wild again. Caesar spared no time on remedial questions with him. He cut right to what they all wanted to hear. Every threat, every arrogant comment Cato made received more and more praise. The brutality in his words turned the crowd into animals; snarling, screaming, hollering. When Caesar asked if he had any final comments to make, he looked to the crowd. Clove watched the screens with intent as they focused in on his face, his blue eyes penetrating into hers despite the monitor.

"I'll give you all a good show," he smiled. It was the handy work of Brutus, for sure. But the reception that ensued was louder than Clove, Marvel, and Glimmer's combined. The girl from three who was called up for her interview next was almost drowned in it.

"Like that?" Cato remarked to Clove as he took his seat, his words saturated in superciliousness. Clove kept her gaze fixed straight ahead when she said in response, "Another big bastard. Not like they haven't seen that before."

She expected his face to be hard and angry at her words, but once again Cato surprised her. He looked entirely amused. This annoyed her, and perhaps it showed, because his smirk became a grin.

Clove went back to focusing on the rest of the puppet show, now featuring the boy from Three who was playing up his intelligence. Somehow he and Caesar had slipped into a conversation about some readily used gadget in the Capitol and how it works. She couldn't tell if Caesar was actually genuinely intrigued, or if he was just a good actor. She assumed the latter.

Next up was Marina who flowed to the stage in a dress the color of a sea shell, her normally frizzy hair cascading in tresses down her back. Her character was mischievous and a bit playful. She made an analogy to her competition being similar to sharks and tuna. "There's some that are big, some that are small, some with big teeth – but if you have the right net you can snare them all, right?"

Fish Head didn't really seem to play much of a part. He ran circles around Caesar though when it came to conversation. And it ended with him asking all the questions.

By the time the Fives had taken the stage, Clove was ultimately bored. Her attention wasn't spiked again until the very last two tributes. A smile crept onto her face. She leaned over in her seat. Go on, Katniss, go on.

The girl was entirely dazed when she came into the spotlight. She nervously wiped her hands on her dress. She clutched her fingers. She narrowed her gray eyes as she searched the crowd. Clove felt fire scotching through her body again at the sight of her. She wanted to stand up and attack her right there on the stage. _That_ would give the audience a show. Oh they would just love that.

Then Katniss was twirling around in her dress. Giggling. The crowd loved her. When they started talking about the eleven she scored during the training sessions, she heard Marvel snort. She turned her head to look at him.

"She made us all look like fools," he whispered. "I want her dead."

When the boy from Twelve took the stage, Clove realized she had never paid much attention to him at all. His character was friendly and utterly likable. Only he didn't seem to be acting a part. Immediately he roused the crowd despite being the very last tribute. They hung on his every word, laughing, cheering. Near the end of it Caesar was asking him about having a girlfriend back home, to which he responsed that there was none but there is a girl who he loves. And then suddenly, five little words was all it took for the simpleton coal-miner to set all their interviews ablaze, leaving nothing but ash, as if they had never really happened at all.

"_She came here with me_."

[**TURN OFF song**]


	7. All of the Children are Insane

**Once again thankyou all for the support and love I've been getting for this. Even if you have reviewed before, keeping reviewing! I especially want to hear what everyone thinks of this chapter and the next, given that it touchs on aspects of Clove I don't think I have really yet to explore. Also... on one final note I have good news and bad news. Good news is that I have the next "chapter" (not quite a full chapter.. you'll see though) ready to post ether later tonight or tomorrow. Bad news is that I won't be able to continue writing the chapter AFTER THAT for another week or so- dead week is next week and finals are the following. So I'm sorry in advance. I wanted to say all of this now so none of the suspense is the upcoming two chapters is tinted by authors notes.**

**Anyway I won't bore you with more nonsense. Everything belongs to Suzanne!**

* * *

><p><em>Can you picture what will be?<br>So limitless and free?_

_Desperately in need of some strangers hand  
>In a desperate land.<em>

_Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain.  
>And all of the children are insane.<em>

_All of the children are insane._

- The End, The Doors

**7.**

_Breathe, Peeta, Breathe._

He repeated this to himself like a mantra as he watched Katniss put as much distance between them as she possibly could. It didn't surprise him in the least that she was unhappy with what had just happened. He knew she would be.

But for now, this was good. Haymitch had given him the warning. Now was the only chance he would get to potentially save her life.

Instantly he spotted the Careers. All six of them were cramming onto one of the elevators furthest down from him. He would have to move fast.

_Breathe, Breathe._

* * *

><p>Hatred was churning painfully inside Clove's abdomen as she stepped into the elevator. For the second time this year, Twelve has managed to show up District Two. It just wasn't right. Every year, across the board, One, Two and Four were almost always evenly matched in everything- attention, scores, sponsors. Why was it that the year of<em> her<em> Hunger Games would be the first and only one where such a lowly district managed to win over the favor of the Capitol before even stepping into the arena? Though technically not her fault, it was bringing shame to her district- _she_ was bringing shame to her district for allowing it to happen.

However, the burden wasn't on her shoulders alone. Cato seemed to be physically steaming as he stepped into the elevator alongside her.

"I can't even believe it- the peasants from_ Twelve_ were the stars of the show. _Twelve!_ Has the Capitol gone _mad_?"

Glimmer was nearly stomping her heels as she spoke.

"Just shut up and press one, Glimmer. It's been fifteen minutes and I'm already sick of hearing about it from you," Marvel snapped from his corner of the elevator. He was nearly up the wall, trying not to touch Marina or Cato.

Clove couldn't agree more. What did it matter anyway? As angry as she was, she couldn't find it in herself to be too upset. After all, the games began tomorrow. In less than twenty hours. There was only one more night to get through and then…

Just as the doors began to roll close, a pair of hands thrust them open. They belonged to, of all people, the boy from District Twelve.

"Sorry," he huffed, looking at them almost indifferently. "I just had to get away from her."

His words were met with silence. None of them seemed to know how to react at first for a multitude of reasons: one being speechlessness from the strange intuitional feeling triggered by having seen someone directly after talking about them, the other was the boys clear apathy in regards to who he had just stepped into the elevator with, and finally what he had said.

After the shock of his mere presence had passed, Clove was still trying to comprehend his boldness. She hadn't even gotten to considering his words by the time Marina piped, "_Katniss_?"

"Yeah," the boy breathed. "I _can't_ stand her. And she never seems to leave me alone. The girl has the personality of a rock. The fact that Haymitch is having me do this whole song-and-dance with her is just killing me."

What did he just say? Song-and dance? Clove twitched her nose as the rest of them looked from face to face in bewilderment.

"_What_?" Glimmer snapped.

The raised an eyebrow at her.

"What, you actually believed all that? I guess I was pretty good," he said, almost chuckling to himself.

"What do you mean, '_actually believed that'_?" Marvel abruptly hissed. "You just announced it to the entire country!"

And then, the boy narrowed his eyes and twisted his mouth at him, as if _Marvel _was simple. He was awfully intrepid for a District Twelve tribute, that was for sure.

"Yeah and?" he asked. "I mean, _damn_ I'm surprised. Of all people shouldn't it be you guys who know a thing or two about gaining sponsors?"

Clove had to replay the words in her mind again and again. All of that… was for sponsors? She should have known! No one, not even a tribute from Twelve, could be so pathetic as to proclaim their love on live television for the entire nation to watch, _especially_ when in preparation for something of the Hunger Games' nature. It was so perfectly planned out. Never had a pair of tributes taken that approach before. It was desperate, unfair, but not even she could say it wasn't brilliant. It was almost _too _brilliant.

The elevator chimed now, signaling their arrival on the first floor. But Glimmer kept her finger on the button.

"You mean to tell me that was all bullshit?" Cato said.

The District Twelve boy shrugged. "Yeah. I just hope someone kills her early in the games so I can get her off my back. I won't be able to do it myself right away as much as I want too. Unless I don't want the sponsors' support anymore."

Then, almost as an afterthought he added to Glimmer, "Why are you holding the door?"

Killing Katniss? A smile crept onto Clove's face as she began to scheme. Well wouldn't that just be a beautiful plan? Lure her in by using the love of her life as bait and then they'd have her. She wouldn't even be able to run. They could ambush her. And then do with her whatever they wanted; break her body into pieces, carve into her flesh and bone. Then once that was done with, kill off the boy.

After just a glance at the rest of them, she knew they were all thinking the same. Especially Cato who wore a grin on his face that spread from cheek to cheek. Glimmer was nodding, Marina and Fish Head didn't seem opposed, Marvel was rolling his eyes.

Finally Cato sneered, "Well then, I have a proposition for you, _Lover Boy_."

District Twelve lowered his eyebrows.

"What is that?" he asked suspiciously.

"You bring her to us and we won't kill you," Cato said. "Well, not right away, at least."

"Are you asking me to join you?"

"Unfortunately," Marvel sighed.

Twelve actually stood there for a moment and_ considered_ this. He was actually_ thinking_ about their offer. Maybe he wasn't small, but he defiantly wasn't monster sized like Thresh. Clove narrowed her eyes; the dauntlessness he displayed toward them was completely out of character for a tribute coming from such a weak district.

"Alright," he nodded.

"Wonderful," Marvel instantly clapped with sarcasm. "_Now get me off of here_."

The door shut behind them and Clove could barely make out Glimmer asking Marvel what had just happened. Clove herself wasn't even sure. Less than two minutes ago the boy was close to being enemy number one. But somehow, someway, he was on their team now, part of the alliance. And while it was a first for a District Twelve tribute to be a part of the Careers, no one could deny their desire to kill Katniss out-weighed the importance of tradition.

Though she couldn't help but wonder what it was about the girl from Twelve that made this boy hate her enough that he wanted his own district partner dead. But she pushed away her senseless curiosity with annoyance before she could ponder the thought. Clove wasn't one to believe in knowing your enemies- the expression alone made her think of a wolf wanting to understand the nature of a hen. It was absolutely ludacris.

Cato was able to turn his body to face Twelve now that they had more room. "Don't think that you'll be able to pull anything funny because of this," he threatened, standing over him. "You're with us so we can kill the girl. The second I notice a change of heart you'll be dead faster than you can say_ Katniss_,"

"We're both doing each other favors here," Twelve said, locking his eyes in with Cato's. He didn't even look frightened, or intimidated. He seemed entirely unfazed. This bothered Clove. Something defiantly wasn't right about this boy and therefore about the alliance they had just formed with him.

But the elevator chimed, signaling their floor.

"See you tomorrow Lover Boy," Cato said as he sauntered out. Clove made sure she kept her foot in the door long enough to give Twelve her own silent warning- that she would be watching him, that she didn't quite trust his act like the rest of them did. But his eyes; a blue somewhere between Marvel's deeper shade and Cato's icy color, betrayed nothing. He shot her with the same indifference he gave to Cato.

Without a word, she turned her back to him and marched away from the elevator, just in time to see Lyme round the corner.

Her mentor looked nice tonight. She wasn't one to wear make up- and she didn't need to given the natural beauty of her unusual facial features. But the pants she wore were sleek and smooth, she was even wearing heels. Though, Clove noticed that she was carrying bags of luggage in her hands.

"Clove," Lyme addressed her with a small smile.

"Was it acceptable?" Clove asked, approaching the already tall woman made even taller from her shoes.

"It was great. I was very proud. And you look absolutely stunning too."

Clove did her best to keep her mouth controlled as a smile threatened to spread across her lips. Lyme put down one of the bags and placed a large warm hand on to her shoulder.

Her eyes flitted to Cato for only a moment, but it was enough to tell him that he wasn't wanted.

As Cato lumbered off, Clove stood in silence, unsure of what to say now. The last encounter she and her mentor had today ended up in Lyme abruptly leaving the room in the most angered state Clove had ever seen her. Perhaps Lyme felt the same way, because when she pulled her hand away, it fell to her side and her expression seemed unsure. However the uncertainty diminished as rapidly as it had appeared.

"This will be the last time I'll be seeing you before the Games," she said, getting to the point in typical Lyme-fashion.

The words ran their course through Clove's body and sedated it. She felt numb and maybe even a little sad. Clearly she cared for her mentor; she could admit that to herself now. But why? _Why_? She had no real reason to. She had no reason to care for _anyone_. And she had only known Lyme for a little over a week. Sure, she had been tolerable as a mentor. But other than that she barely knew her. The emotion she felt was so pointless, so stupid…

But still when she opened her mouth to ask how come, the question was heavy enough to fall out and smash onto the floor.

"Well, I'm going to need to head up the Games Headquarters tonight to get all your sponsors lined up," she said. "Me and Brutus both. Faun will see you off tomorrow."

Clove must have made a face, because Lyme released a light chuckle. She couldn't remember ever hearing her mentor laugh. The sound was pleasant. It rolled around the room.

"Listen to me Clove," she said, abruptly serious. "These are my final words of advice to you. First off: _Do not_ under any circumstances trust_ anyone_. Not even your team. Stay diligent at all times. Also, tomorrow, you get into that Cornucopia and get your hands on a set of knives. Make sure you are _fast_ so no one can catch you without them. Then, kill whoever it takes."

"You know I will," Clove said, her focus digging deep into Lyme's dark orbs- orbs just like her own. For what seemed to be a long time, they stayed just like that, standing still and not breaking eye contact. They weren't trying to intimidate one another, nor were they trying to win an argument. For Clove at least, the sensation she felt was one of comfort. Though, comfort from what, she was not sure.

"Remember something," Lyme said in a soft voice. "There are some people who want you to get out of that arena alive."

"The people whose asses were put on the line to get me here?" Clove sneered, echoing Lyme's words from earlier that day.

Something heavy suddenly weighed down the room, Clove could feel it. It was as if an additional thirty pounds of air had been concentrated above their heads.

"Yes," Lyme said. "Win for those people. Win for the district or for the glory or for whatever you want. Just make sure you _win_."

Clove rolled this over in her mind. Could she promise her that? She couldn't lie- she had too much respect for her mentor to do that. Though she couldn't say she ever thought about winning. But she did owe Lyme something; her mentor had done a lot for her these past few days, after all. And being ranked as a victor's mentor would defiantly make them even, right?

"Okay," Clove said.

Then there was nothing more to say. But despite this Lyme still clasped Clove's shoulder with a light shake and gave her another small smile before taking her bags to the elevator and slipping away behind the silver doors, gone.

Though, Clove couldn't say she was entirely upset by this. Because in that final, wordless exchange, she saw something deep in Lyme's eyes that had managed to suck her in and spit her out a million times over, in a million different ways.

* * *

><p>Hours later beneath the dim lights of her bathroom, Clove saw another creature trapped inside her mirror.<p>

This one wasn't beautiful like the last. This thing was an animal. It had angry streaks of black that ran across its gray cheeks. Its face seemed hallow. Its body was naked. It glared at Clove with eyes that burned like fire. Its upper lip was raised. It was snarling at her. One of its hands grabbed another clump of its hair- dark and tangled now, and the other chopped it off with a pair of silver scissors. Like a massive spider still attached to its web, the bundle drifted softly through the air till it landed in the sink before her.

This thing had no need for long tresses. It had no need for beauty.

It continued to grab clumps of hair until black locks touched its shoulders; their angry, gnarled ends twisted this way and that. It smiled at its work.

Clove turned off the light; she couldn't bear to watch the thing in the mirror anymore. The darkness engulfed her. It settled her pounding heart. It entered her mouth as she parted her lips to inhale. It invaded her throat, her lungs. It sloshed into her legs. But it couldn't fill her. She screamed. She pounded her fist into the wall. The pain was immediate but even still, there was nothing.

The emptiness she so often felt had been particularly bad in these past few hours. She could feel the void physically growing as it worked to consume her. Rage, anger, all was absent. Not even a touch of nerves, not even a bit of fatigue.

The lights flicked back on. She wanted to eat the bushes of hair that now stuck to the sink, choke herself on them. Let them strangle her from the inside out so perhaps the breath of death could shake her to back to life. She picked one up, studied it in her hands. Up close, its ends looked like little menacing shards. She threw it to the floor and stormed out of the bathroom.

For an hour she sat on her bed and stared into nothing.

Then- a noise. It came from outside her door. She crossed the room and slipped into the only two articles of clothing she spotted on the ground, a soft shirt and a pair of underwear. And then she followed the sound.

It was footsteps.

They led her to the massive window which looked out over the Capitol. The source of the noise came from an outline that stood with its broad back to her, its shoulders heaving up and down as it breathed or better yet, panted. Of course Cato was awake.

She didn't want to make any noise to alert him. She wanted to watch the shadows that danced across the bare skin of his back until the sun came up. But he sensed her presence.

His head snapped up and he whipped around to face her. Those pale eyes of his, which were opened unusually wide, told her he was in just as manic of a mood as she was. He tilted his head. His lips cracked open to reveal a smile. With the focused movements of a jungle cat, he crept toward her.

"What's wrong, precious?" he purred. "Can't sleep?"

If she hadn't been in such a state, she would have backed away from him. But instead she hovered to the side. A bubble of tension began to form between them. She could_ feel_ it. She was feeling_ something_ again. The emptiness inside her began to fill. She suddenly felt elated, craving more.

"Not tonight," she said.

His eyes flicked away from hers and his lips curled into a sneer. "Giving yourself a little haircut instead?" he said.

"Have to look pretty for tomorrow, don't I?" she said. Involuntarily, her voice came out as a snarl.

They continued to drift around each other in a wide circle. Energy pulsed through her veins now. It was such a wonderful sensation, especially sense it had been only moments ago that she was nearly suffocated from desperation to close the massive hollow cavity that formed in her body. With animation she sighed and looked longingly out the window.

"I just can't stop thinking," she said, stopping her pace and turning to the Capitol. Instantly Cato was upon her. Before he even made a noise she could feel his presence. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose. Her skin became goose flesh. "About tomorrow. About their blood..." She smirked. "About your blood."

His laughter was closer than expected. A pair of large palms hardened from years of handling weaponry slowly moved to her back. Having been unexpected, she jumped away in response. But when they approached her a second time, she allowed them to touch her skin. They started on the small of her back and then trailed around her hips till they met each other across her stomach. Her blood set on fire.

A pair of muscular arms followed, encasing her body in their warmth. Then she felt a chin rest in the curve of her neck, lips touch her ear, eyelashes beat twice against the side of her face. Her entire body was pressed into his now. The lips curved into a smile.

"You know, Brutus was right," he murmured. "Kill the rest of them, save the best for last."

She closed her eyes, allowed herself to sink into him completely. Her senses were alive, tuned into to everything; the heat his bare chest radiated onto her back, his hands whose fingertips seemed to begin making tiny circles on the soft flesh of her flattened belly; the cinnamon smell of his hot breath.

"I look forward to it," she said.

"To dying?" he breathed. "Because when it comes down to us, that'll be the case for you."

His fingers grazed tantalizingly slow across her hip bone now. They made the tiniest of patterns over the thin layer of skin. His chest rose and fell. His entire body seemed to pulse. She had to remind herself to answer.

"No it won't. I'll kill you," she said, trying to control her breathing. On normal occasion she would have said more, would have snarled it even, but this was all she could muster. His fingertips were running across the fabric of the underwear she had forgotten she was wearing up until now.

Another chuckle rumbled into her ear. "I don't think so," he said.

His fingers then clenched around her hips, pulling her further into him. Her breath hitched. She had rendered herself completely vulnerable, he could attack at any moment- but she couldn't bring herself to form a single thought. Her mind only focused on the sensation of his thumb as it slowly slipped beneath the lining of the material, caressing the bare skin. She felt nothing else.

"Why," she barely heard herself asking.

The fabric was then peeled away from just one of her hips with deliberate slowness. She stopped breathing all together.

Against her ear, he said in a low whisper, "I have you."

When she felt the smug smile and the low laughter that followed she was pulled from her trance. Her mouth twisted into a gnarled grin. Two could play at this. She lifted her hand to his face and ran her fingers across his jaw, letting them graze across his lip.

"Is that right?" she asked, trying to mimic the dazed tone her voice held before. Though Cato didn't buy it. His hands removed themselves from her body. But it was too late.

Instantly she jabbed a pair of fingers into the sensitive hallow beneath his chin and then whipped around to face him. She moved one hand to push her fingers down above his collar bone- _subclavian_, and then pushed her other fingers into the area right before his ear with enough force to leave his body momentarily useless from the striking pain to his sinuses. Before he had time to attack, she had him up against a wall.

Now it was her turn.

With child-like innocence she placed her tiny feet on his large ones and rose to her toes so they were almost eye level. She used one hand to trail her fingers across his jaw, while the other grasped his shoulder for balance. She grazed her lips across the muscles of his chest, up to his throat, over his chin, stopping at his cheek as if she were about it kiss it.

Instead she said, "Because I think I have you."

There was a deep intensity inside his cold eyes, but rather than frighten her, it awoke a similar passion that must have been asleep for fifteen years. His lips parted. The glow of the Capitol illuminated his bare skin. The perfectly carved chest beneath her fingers, the protrusion of his neck, the line of his jaw, everything about him aroused a primordial instinct that fought to take control of her body. It boiled inside of her. It wanted him. It wanted him in a way she couldn't recall herself ever wanting anything.

It caused her to tenderly bring her mouth to his, but rather than kiss it, she bite down on his soft lower lip.

Like a bomb, Cato went off.

Her head was smacking against the wall before she could even understand what was happening. His hands pinned her against it, suspended in the air. His body was pressed against hers. She acted without thought now. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Then their mouths crashed into each other.

They kissed.

It was the first time she had kissed anyone. Only there was nothing sensual or romantic about it. It was hard, aggressive. They're teeth smashed together; they bit hard into each other's lips. They're hands were clawing, grabbing, hurting each other in any way they could in a powerful combination of lust and hatred. But it was wonderful. She couldn't get enough. She only wanted more, more, more. Her fingers entwined in his hair, she pulled herself closer to him. A growl rumbled in his throat. She broke away, running her mouth down his neck, her tongue grazing across skin. And then something happened.

Maybe it was the closeness, maybe it was the intensity of it all. Maybe it was the adrenaline that coursed through her veins; maybe it was her heightened senses. Maybe it was the understanding that come tomorrow they would be thrown in an arena to fight to the death.

Whatever the reason, she suddenly wanted to kill him.

She bit down into the flesh of his neck with as much power as she could. Metallic blood flowed into her mouth. His body jerked. She clenched harder.

Then his hands were knotted into her hair, tearing her head back. The wound on his neck was already purple and black and blood trickled from the deep gash. The taste of it was still in her mouth, she felt it drying around her lips. Now she did whatever she could to bring him pain. Her hands flew to his face, punching it, slapping it. Her nails dug gashes across his back. She snapped at him like an animal.

Finally his hand grabbed a hold of her jaw and compressed it with enough pressure to make it crack, causing her to gasp. His muscles tensed, his breathing became ragged, she even saw his pupils dilate. A smile spread across his lips. And then he threw her to the ground.

Oh how alike they were.

The wind had been knocked out of her and in a second Cato was straddling her legs, his large hands wrapping around her waist and the immense amount of his weight pressing down on her much smaller body. Squeezing her. A raged breath was pulled into her mouth but she could barely breathe. Her hands swung uselessly at his face. She even tried digging one of her fingers into his eye socket. But it did nothing. Like a horse, he deflected her attempt with a buck of his head. Eventually she was unable to use her arms for anything but trying to pry his hands and body away. It was agony like she had never felt before. Her cheeks puffed out as she held back a shout.

"No, scream, I want to hear it," he demanded between clenched teeth. His eyes were ablaze, face red. He was a mad man. Though she couldn't deny that she was one too.

Her mouth clamped shut. She would not let him gain any satisfaction of out this. But she had absolutely no defense. She was trapped.

"You know, flowers like you don't grow where I'm from," he said lightly as if it had been said over a dinner table. And then he pressed down harder. Blood rushed to her face. She was sure the contents of her insides would be dumped onto the floor in moments. The scream she had been holding back was released. Her head whipped back and forth, she wriggled, trying to escape. Every cell of her body screamed along with her in desperation.

He was laughing but she didn't care. She couldn't care about anything.

"Beg me," he snarled, his expression changing almost instantly. "Beg me to let go."

But she wouldn't. Instead she ignored him and continued to thrash around in whatever way she could to escape his iron grasp.

"_Beg me_."

He could break every bone in her body and she would never give him the gratification. In an act of defiance she glared into his eyes, which were absent again. But when the hands at her sides pushed in further it was all she could do to squeeze her eyes shut and let out another scream. Nether Brutus or Lyme would be coming to her rescue tonight. But she didn't need it. Let Cato kill her- in that moment she wanted nothing more.

But he couldn't even do that.

He unlatched the hands he had locked on her sides and instantly the pain that had been suppressed by shock and pressure flooded throughout her body. She gasped, coughed, choked even, realizing only now how little she had been breathing. Weakness over took her, leaving her unable to move.

Cato leaned his head down. He took her face in his hands and let a finger run across the skin beneath her eye. "Such a sweet little dove," he whispered. "What a shame you'll have to be thrown to slaughter."

In the shadows he was other worldly. A demon, an angel, a god. Something beautiful and intangible. She wondered if he really was sculpted by an artist. She wondered if he was real.

"'I've killed before," he said into her ear. "Do you know what a spine sounds like when it is breaking?"

One shaky hand reached up to clench around his. She was too physically exhausted to question her actions; question why she wasn't fighting back, question why she allowed herself to stay in this state. Her thumb brushed across the skin of his palm again and again. She brought it to her mouth and spoke into it. "No," she said.

His fingers flexed around her eyes, but made no move to injure her any further. Rather they seemed to be feeling her face. "It's like the crunching of metal," he said. "All it takes is a little pressure and it will crush like a can. It's fascinating, really, how easy human bone can be snapped."

Her mind's eye played for her a scene- Cato holding a man's shoulders and kicking hard into his back, molding the body into a sharp angle. Why wasn't he doing the same to her? What he did now was far worse: absolutely nothing. She was lying before him vulnerable, pathetic, and all he did was kiss her jaw. He truly was a monster.

"How many," she asked without thought.

The hand she held to her mouth pushed against her cheek and turned her face to meet his. A light from the window crept slowly down his form, leaving blackness in its wake so she only saw the faint gleam of his white teeth when he answered, "Three."

Without another word, his hands slipped away from her face and his body faded away back into the darkness that now engulfed the room, as if it had only been a part of it from the start.

And then he was gone and she was left to feel nothing again.

For a long time she laid there but eventually she regained enough strength to crawl to the glass window. Until the sun rose above the buildings of the Capitol she stayed there, filling the reopened cavity in her chest with hatred. Hatred for herself, hatred for Cato, hatred for Lyme, for Brutus, for Pallas, for the tributes, for the Capitol, for Panem, for the world.

* * *

><p>"<em>What<em> happened to your hair?"

These were the first words Clove's stylist had said to her when she came to retrieve her in the morning. Sleep had not come to her that night. But Faun's sheer presence breathed life into her fatigued body-the silly little woman was the physical embodiment of a reminder for what was to come; one last touch of make-up, one last wardrobe change, all the final preparations that must be made.

Today was the beginning of the Hunger Games.

Insignificant images passed before her eyes as she performed the remedial tasks necessary to bring her closer, step by step, to the podium of the arena. Breakfast barely touched on a plate, the ladder of a hover craft, the silver tracker as it burrowed into the skin of her arm, Faun's red eyelashes. Nothing stayed in focus for more than mere moments until she found herself staring into the blue paneled walls of the launch room.

Faun had her shower. Had her dress in the simple tawny pants and green blouse which she couldn't help but imagine, bloody and torn, on one of the tributes. But she wouldn't have to _imagine_ these things anymore, would she? In less than an hour she would be able to see them for herself. Her heart thudded against her chest, air seemed to clog her throat. She tried to suppress her smiles but anticipation didn't allow her to.

Today she would kill. Today would be everything.

What were the others doing at this moment? Crying? Weaping? Nervously jittering about? Biting their finger nails. District by district she thought of them: Glimmer pulling up her hair, Marvel adjusting his belt, Cato cracking his bones, the girl from Three nervously tapping her pudgy cheeks, the boy from Three pacing the floor, Fish Head jumping up and down, Marina biting her lip, the red-head from Five staring into nothing, the girl from Eight bawling hysterically, the boy from Eleven stoic and expressionless, the little girl from Eleven flitting about the room, Lover Boy's blue eyes wide and helpless, the Girl on Fire… giggling… _twirling_…

She wasn't pulled from her thoughts until Faun was asking about her token. Clove had none. There wasn't a thing she had wanted from home to travel with her here. She had no fond memories; no objects of sentimental value. No part of her life in District Two belonged in the arena. Her past and any sense of humanity she may have had left would disintegrate into nothing as soon as the gong went off.

She wondered if this would still be the case if her life had gone differently.

Would it be if her mother had embraced her outstretched arms while she wailed as a child? Would it be if their dinners would have been spent with conversation rather than silence? Would it be if her father had once looked her in the eyes? Would it be if they would have hit her, hugged her, yelled at her, beat her mercilessly, just done something, _anything_, just once?

Would it be if her childhood had not been spent playing with the ghosts in the backyard? Would it be if she had friends outside the white washed walls like the other little children, instead of nurses who asked her to draw pictures for them? Would it be if in those years when she was young, her days were dotted with wonder and fantasy rather than hallucinations and sedation?

Would it be if she spent her time socializing with her peers rather than washing animal blood out of her clothes? Would it be if her nights were spent dreaming of boys rather than lying awake thinking about death? Would it be if her thoughts were beautiful, intellectual, enlightening?

Yes, perhaps then things would be different. But then she would also be weak. Weak like her parents, weak like her peers, weak like her fellow tributes. Life, or lack thereof, had shaped the girl who stood in the launch room, waiting to paint the ground with the blood of other children.

So when Clove looked Faun in the eyes and said, "I had nothing to bring," she meant it.

Then a female said in a monotone voice that it was time to prepare for launch. Faun looked overly pleased.

"Best of luck, you little beast," was all she chirped. When Lyme had mentioned people who would want to see Clove come out alive, she was sure that didn't include Faun.

Suddenly a glass tube was encasing her body and pulling her up. Faun, the launch room, the Capitol and District Two disappeared forever behind a wall on concrete.

Three heartbeats. An intake of breath. Bent fingers.

Sunlight, blinding for a moment. Grass rolling in a breeze. Packs strewn everywhere. Twenty-three individuals standing on their podiums. Blue sky. A golden cornucopia.

A voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen… let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

Numbers in red.

Sixty seconds.


	8. 60 Seconds

_**60 seconds…**_

_Rue felt entirely alone._

Isolation hollowed out her body. Death was everywhere. It was in the faces of the tributes around her, it was in unnatural air that blew across her face, it was in the crude point the tip of the Cornucopia made. Why was she here? Why were any of them here?

Her throat felt suddenly full, her eyes threatened to tear and very quickly the empty feeling sporadically filled with desperation, terror, abandonment, and sorrow like she had never felt before.

_Think of something else, think of something else. _

Beneath closed lids she tried to find the beautiful white blooms of the pear blossoms back home. But she couldn't. All she could see was blood.

Her eyes- as gold as the sun, her momma used to say, flickered open and were attracted to the shine of a spear whose head was sharp enough to pierce through her very soul from where she stood.

_No, don't,_ said a voice. _Don't cry. Don't be afraid._ _Be strong. You have to be strong for them. They are watching._

The voice was right. She was sure she could see them- her brothers and sisters standing in a crowd before the only projection screen in their sector of District 11, all their small hands entwined for support, all their eyes on her. She wouldn't let them down. She couldn't.

_**53 seconds…**_

_Marina wasn't in the area._

She was in a million places but the arena.

She was swimming through the mystical turquoise world of her district, between the pink and red corals, sunlight casting tantalizing recurring shapes of light upon the sea floor carpeted with life. She was on her father's sailboat scooping up prawns with whiskers like cats. She was plucking clear jellyfish out of the water and throwing them at her sisters.

When none of these real memories worked, she created new ones.

She was winning the games. She was on the cover of every fashion magazine in the Capitol. She was kissing the lips of her extraordinarily gorgeous mentor, running her hands again and again through his bronze hair…

_**49 seconds…**_

_Icaunus, on the other hand, was definitely in the arena._

Unlike his district partner who stood still with her unfocused sky blue eyes somewhere in her own little world, he was hopping up and down, shifting from side to side on his feet. His earthen eyes were everywhere, on everything, on everyone.

This was it. It was time.

How anyone could hold still in this moment was entirely beyond him. His hyperactivity almost caused him to fall off the podium but he managed to stop himself before being blown to bits of flesh and bone. As soon as he righted himself he was bouncing again.

Death didn't occur to him.

_**46 seconds…**_

_Thresh was completely empty._

His thoughts were empty. His emotions were empty. With golden eyes he fixated on what he needed surrounding the cornucopia – and that was backpacks of food and water. He didn't need weapons; he wasn't going to touch anything he didn't have to from the Capitol.

The image of the little girl perched on her podium across from him with her arms extended slightly, would for as long as he was here, remind him why.

_He would use __nothing __that was theirs_.

When he killed, he would use the only thing that still belonged to him and him alone. His bare hands.

_**41 seconds…**_

_Peeta was completely full._

Full of adrenaline, full of fear, and full of thoughts all vying for his attention. He made a deal with the Careers. So he had no choice but to go into the heart of the cornucopia. He would have to fight; he would probably have to kill. Would one of the Careers just end up slaying him anyway? There was a strong chance they may, despite the bargain. He knew his life was going to end in this arena, but would it be so soon?

However, the most important thought that was able to silence all the others was embodied in a human being standing five tributes down from him. Her grey eyes were fixed upon the Cornucopia. She was staring at the bow.

_God, Katniss don't._

Joining the Careers, battling into the Cornucopia; all of it was for her. They wanted her dead and because they were the Careers, without his intervention they would probably make that happen. He was going to get her out of this_ alive_. He didn't care what the cost to his life might be.

To settle his nerves, he tried to remember the exact color of her soft olive cheeks as the fire coming off both of their bodies illuminated them. He tried to remember the perfect shade of her gray eyes when they looked up into his, surrounded by fluffy black lashes that would have never been there if they had been back in District 12.

It was difficult to find those lovely pictures beneath the raging winds of his anxiety but he managed to bring them into focus. And with them, he remembered his purpose.

He wasn't afraid anymore.

**34 seconds…**

_Glimmer rubbed the vacant spot on her finger._

Why did they have to take it away from her? It was _her_ ring, her token. And if they were going to do it why did it have to wait till right before she was encased in the glass tube to be raised into the arena?

_Damn them!_ It was_ just_ enough to kill one tribute. It wasn't even fair the advantages some of these heathens had over her. How could she possibly win if it came down to say, just her and the massive ogre that was Cato? It seemed _completely _fair to allow a slender young woman such as herself to bring in a small little something to make up for the fact that she wasn't a towering giant that could snap a neck with her strength alone.

And speaking of _a small little something_, what about that pint-sized hobgoblin, Clove? _She _was the real monster. Glimmer had seen her ability with those knives but she had seen something more in her too. That eerie smile that would form beneath those freckled cheeks of hers as one of her weapons dug into the heart of a dummy. Or her black eyes which would widen as she sliced the neck.

That ring wouldn't have gone to waste.

Her eyes lay on the bow and arrows lying atop the pile in the Cornucopia. _That_ would be hers.

Maybe she didn't have poison. But a bow would work just the same wouldn't it? She could step far out of their range and take out the real competition without a struggle.

And if a struggle should come, well, they wouldn't be the only ones with daggers.

A smile curled her lips.

**28 seconds…**

_Marvel was still as stone._

His body was leaned over the podium with one leg in front of the other as motionless as a statue- a bullet ready to be fired. His target was the silver glistening heads of a case of spears near the interior of the Cornucopia. They were just waiting for his fingers to clench around them, to finally put his years of training to use on the poorly fed, skeletal bodies of his competitors.

The sad little cockroaches he was forced to call his countrymen.

But of course_ here_ they weren't.

It was almost pitiful, looking at the scraggly, disoriented, permanently filthy faces of the lesser districts tributes as they seemed to ether shift uncomfortably or hold their bodies in an awkward starting position on their podiums. They always went down so quickly, year after year. Marvel hardly even wanted to kill them to be honest. It just seemed so… wasteful.

There was some competition though that he_ really_ wanted to kill.

The two little beasts from District 2.

He didn't need to look at them to know what they were doing, most likely sneering or snarling like the unrefined animals they were. They would be challenges for sure. But there was no doubt in his mind he could slaughter them both.

And Glimmer? The thought of a final fight against his erogenous, superficial, inept district partner was enough to make him chuckle out loud. Her abilities weren't much for nearly eleven years of training. And he would know considering they had attended the same academy together.

These games would be too easy.

Suddenly a pair of sweet eyes and a lovely giggle rang through his mind, interrupting his grueling thoughts. He didn't mind though.

_She_ was always allowed to interrupt him.

Where was she right now? It was a weekday, but even the manufactories were shut down during the games. Was someone counting down the seconds for her? Describing his face as the cameras focused in on it? He hoped she wasn't frightened. Was she wearing her hair in a bow today? He loved when she arranged those strawberry curls of hers at the nape of her neck, exposing her fragile shoulders…

But this wasn't the time to be thinking of her. So with a delicateness he kept reserved only for her, he shooed her away from his thoughts, just for now.

_**21 seconds…**_

_Cato heard everything._

He heard his heart thump hard against the bones of his chest. He heard his own pants. He heard his blood as it pounded through his veins. He heard his teeth crushing as his jaw grinded them together. He heard everything.

He heard the boy from Seven swallow hard. He heard the little girl from Eleven's heartbeat as she readied herself to run. He heard the faint noise the boy from Ten made as he shifted onto his bad leg. He heard Lover Boy's muscles as they tightened. He heard a bead of sweat trickle down Thresh's back. He heard the bones in Marvel's fingers as they cracked. He heard Glimmer's eyelashes batting as she blinked hard from the sun. He heard the Girl on Fire exhale as she took position to sprint.

But he saw different things.

He saw the boy from Seven grasping at his throat as blood sputtered from it. He saw the little girl from Eleven being crushed beneath his fingers. He saw the leg of the boy from Ten being snapped backwards, bone sticking out in all the wrong places. He saw Lover Boy_ really_ pouring his guts out for all of Panem to see, on the ground, surrounded by a pool of blood and purple organs. He saw Thresh's ripped flesh exposing the bone of his spine before kicking it broken. He saw Marvel with various punctures across his body, red gaping mouths spread across bruised purple skin. He saw Glimmer's golden hair tangled in a mess and matted with blood as she lay face down on the ground, her skull completely crushed.

And he saw the Girl on Fire… broken in a million places, her arms, limbs, hands, all bent in the wrong ways. Only she wasn't dead. She was alive. And she was screaming.

Then he saw Clove.

She was in that dress from last night, held up against the walls of the Cornucopia being physically crushed. She was withering in pain. She begged him to stop. Her frail bones were breaking. She was defenseless, weak, terrified. Just how he liked her.

She was pinning the girl from Eight to the ground with a knife held to her throat. Killing, brutal, aggressive. With the same hungry look in those deep green eyes as the night when she so bravely stuck a knife to his neck.

She was bleeding like the rest of them in a heap on the earth.

No longer was he human. Barely was there a time when he truly was, but he was always caged. However, the leash of civilization didn't restrain him here. He was about to be let loose. Wild, feral, manic. The only thing that held him back now was the clock.

Colors seemed to fade as he looked again at his competition. They were all going to die.

Fire coursed through ever limb of his body. He wanted to hear their screams. He wanted to feel their blood as it stuck to his fingers.

He wanted it everywhere like an ocean, drowning out everything.

_**10 seconds…**_

_Clove waited patiently. _

She wasn't calm but her energy wasn't free to bounce throughout her in whichever way it liked. It was concentrated and focused just like the rest of her. She would only get this moment once.

Her life had been nothing more than a fall leading to this point.

A fall through the black pupils of her mother, through purple fires and placid faces, landing into the palms of monsters and acquaintances, dumped into the darkness that only allowed the sparks of stars and dreams of blood. But now she was reaching the bottom and it was the hard packed earth that surrounded her podium and the Cornucopia. The fall was almost over.

This was everything. Everything she had trained for, anticipated, spent her waking hours fantasizing about. It was almost sad it was finally here, it was finally about to happen. There would be nothing more to look forward to.

Her first human kill.

All that separated her from one of the twenty-three that shuffled on their podiums was mere seconds. She couldn't deny the intimacy of the moment. It was stronger and more powerful than the feeling of her knife digging across the belly of a horse, than watching a chicken burn alive from her flame, than running her lips across Cato's skin. She could_ feel_ their fear, their terror. She could see it in their faces.

Her vision darkened around the edges again. A smile crept to her lips.

She thought of Lyme's promise. She could win, she could return to the Capitol and be crowned victor, bring pride to her district when she returned home. But even if she did, she wouldn't truly be there.

Once her foot stepped off that podium, she would never leave this place.

_**4 seconds… 3 seconds… 2 seconds**_

_**1 second. **_


	9. Let their Blood never Leave you

**Okay I know I basically implied it wouldn't be another two weeks until I updated again but I have been having some serious procrastination issues so here we are!**

**Just a couple of shout outs: first thank you to ALL of you who have been reviewing. Please continue to do so! Review as much as you like. I absolutely love reading all your comments. You are all so sweet I can't say thank you enough. Next I want to give a special shout out to those of you who have stuck with the story thus far and continue to review and critique each chapter. I really appreciate the time and effort you all put in. And finally once last thank you to Lya-Nym who pointed out some (okay many) grammatical errors in the last chapter.**

**I know I've said this before but I just want to throw out a quick reminder that in this story I am going to stay as true as I can to the books rather than the movie. Other than that I have nothing more to say! Hope you guys like this. My next update should be sometime next week.**

**One last thing: yes I know I keep changing the description of this story. They all just suck so much I feel like I have to.**

**All characters belong to Suzanne Collins. I'm not sure if I have to state this every chapter… but ether way…**

* * *

><p><em>They say they don't know when, but a day is gonna come<br>When there won't be a moon and there won't be a sun.  
>It will just go black, it will just go back<br>__to the way it was before._

_Is it true what they say about the Son of God?  
>Did he die for us? Did he die at all?<br>And if I sold my soul for a bag of gold,  
>which one of us would be the foolish one?<br>Which one of us would be the fool?_

_-_Don't know when but a Days Gonna Come,_ Bright Eyes_

**9.**

In the last second before the gong, Clove took one deep inhale of breath.

_Go._

With feet hardly touching the ground, she nearly flew to the Cornucopia. Perhaps this could have been considered another one of her hidden talents – her speed. She was fast. Really fast. And apparently, faster than the other tributes. Because she was the first to make it to the pile of weapons.

Her senses were absolutely overwhelmed, every nerve, every inch of her skin was tingling in near unbearable amounts of adrenaline. But her thoughts were silent, what drove her now was nothing more than instinct.

An array of knives – _her knives_, were aligned in a matt beside the other weaponry. There had to be twenty, thirty or maybe even more. But she had no time to count. Just as she turned around the girl from Ten was charging at her. She was big in size, and apparently pretty gallant as well. Because she showed no fear while she ran at Clove like one of the bulls she must have grown up with.

_Yes, that's it. Come for me. Come for me._

She raised her first knife, ready to launch.

So this is who it would be?

She whipped the weapon at the girl and for just a moment, the air seemed to want to hold it suspended, spinning it on its side like a saucer. Perfect precision, perfect aim. In that final minuscule length of time Clove was able to watch the last breath the girl would ever take. Her eyes snapped shut as the knife lodged into her neck, and her lips parted. The final moment of her life was spent clawing at the weapon and slipping to the ground.

Clove didn't blink. She didn't want to miss a second of it. And yet even as she plucked the tool from the girl's dead hand; even as the girl's blood, real _human_ blood, dripped from the open wound in her neck – Clove couldn't deny it.

She felt nothing.

Hollow. Empty. Nothing.

There was no satisfaction in the kill.

However, the nothingness didn't last for long. Because while the exchange had only been less than a few seconds, the others were approaching the Cornucopia now. But the way they ran, the looks upon their faces; they were a flock of frantic birds, a herd of frightened cattle, a group of pigs- nothing more than animals. Pathetic, desperate, agitated, wild animals. It was no wonder her kill had felt like nothing. She had done it a dozen times before on other creatures, maintaining some silent hope that the effect would be different on humans. But it wasn't.

She could have been slaughtering dogs.

Suddenly she was running at them, screaming so loudly blood was rushing to her face. Her eyes locked in on the boy from Five who was coming rather close. A bit too close. She slashed a gaping wound into his stomach. It hadn't killed him but she didn't care. His screams were enough to bring her fulfillment, if only for a small while. She had a hunger that needed to be satisfied. And she was sure the only way to do it was to destroy as many tributes as possible.

Her knife launched into the back of the bent over figure who, as he flopped into the earth was revealed to be the boy from Nine. And then she saw Katniss.

For just a moment they made eye contact, and in that moment Clove could see her terror. Shear, utter, undeniable terror. Then she was taking off into the woods. With accuracy, Clove hurled her knife at the girls head, but she pulled up the bright orange backpack just in time- putting the dagger to waste. Though Twelve was fast, Clove could have been able to catch her. But another scream from the boy from Five was all it took to remind her that she couldn't leave now.

A manic smile made its way to her lips. Everything she saw was unnaturally bright; everything she heard was unnaturally loud.

She had to physically retain the grip she held on her knife after she whipped around and made a motion to launch it at Marvel. His foot was on the chest of the boy from Five, tugging out a spear whose tip was coated in spider web like red tissues. For a moment they stared at each other, each ready to attack. Clove wanted to kill him. Just to do it, just because she could. Maybe he felt the same.

But then the boy from Eight was foolishly swinging at him. Clove didn't come to his aid. Rather her attention was directed to the Cornucopia where she saw the boy from Eleven. Only he wasn't alone. Latched to his back was none other than Fish Head who seemed to have jumped on top of him and was attempting to beat him with a club. In a terrifying display he tossed the club from the boys hands with ease, wrapped his massive hand around the collar of his shirt, and slammed Fish Head into the Cornucopia's golden wall. All it took was one violent pound against his body and Fish Head was more than just dead – his skull had cracked from shear force.

But fear was too far away from her now so she felt nothing. Instead she targeted her next victim – the girl from Seven who was bent over, urgently trying to scoop up a pack. Then she was screaming. At first it was because of her district partner's dead body that collapsed to her side with an arrow burrowed in his neck. But then it was because she saw Clove coming at her.

Shock and recognition were still in her eyes as Clove pounced on top of her. For a moment, just a moment, she allowed her to live. It was just long enough for three tears to spill from her eyes and for her frantic cry to rip through the air, one single word.

_Please._

_That_ wasn't like an animal. Animals don't plead. Ecstasy rapidly swam through Clove's veins. She didn't want the begging to end. So she slashed her knife across the girls face, which caused her to utter a shriek louder than any human voice Clove had ever heard. She did it again, and again. Skin, she found, shredded a lot like paper did. The girl was thrashing her head back and forth. Blood ran from the gashes which now made crisscrossed patterns across her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes bulged from her skull, like a rat. Her hands which were somewhere beneath Clove were desperately trying to push her off, or maybe move to her face. Either way it was time for her to die.

Clove drove her knife into the girl's throat, which made a noise that resembled both a pop and the sound of boots on dead leaves. Her warm blood splattered onto Cloves face and almost bubbled from her neck like a geyser. But she still wasn't dead. Unlike the girl from Ten who went down instantly, this girl convulsed and choked on her own blood, coughing more of it onto Clove, before finally her eyes rolled back into her head and she was dead.

Perhaps Clove should have moved then, but she didn't. Instead she stayed, wanting the girl to come back alive so she could do it again. But this was a mistake because not even a second had passed before she was being tackled to the ground by an unseen force. It was a boy, though she couldn't recognize who he was or where he came from because instantly he was strangling her. He was very stupid though, because her hands were still wrapped around her knives. But before she even had time to do anything, his head was being sheared clear away from his neck. Blood showered her in amounts even she found unpleasant. When she rolled his now useless body away from her, the gleam of a sword caught her eye.

And there was Cato, breathing heavy, face red. His sword was pointed at her and she could see in his icy eyes that he was considering killing her. But rather than drive the weapon across her neck as well, he went off charging in the other direction. Clove could understand his deliberation, because as he turned from her, she considered killing him too. What a pair they made, the two of them. They were nothing more than sharks in frenzy at sea, tearing away at everything.

From a distance she saw the hand of the girl from Nine fly up in defense as Cato thrust his sword repeatedly through her body.

How very alike they were. _Sharks in the sea, sharks in the sea._

She heard Brutus's words.

"_When the time is right, you can put all your effort into killing each other_"

Sweet time moved so slow. She would have to wait but in the end, it would be worth it. Because he would be hers and hers alone. It would be perfection, artistic, poetic. She wouldn't unjust him by making his death anything but.

A smile crawled to her lips.

The Cornucopia was beginning to clear. For the first time she saw Glimmer and judging by the bow slung across her back, she was the one who killed the boy from Seven. Now she had her hand entangled in the hair of the girl from Three who was swinging her arms in an attempt to throw her off. But Glimmer slashed a blade through her gut and she was dead.

She saw Marina and Lover Boy for the first time too. They were standing near each other- both hovering over the dead girl from Six as Marina coiled the chain of her harpoon. Clove was surprised the Game Makers had thrown such a weapon into the arena- she must have really impressed them. Marvel was making one last run across the field, checking to see if any stragglers had been left behind.

Cato was still standing over the girl from Nine. Clove watched a solitary drip of the girls blood roll from his blade. Neither one of them moved.

But the others did. Lover Boy, who now was sporting a large welt across his cheek, was leaning against the Cornucopia breathing deeply. Glimmer was trotting over to where Cato stood. Marvel now had a smirk spread across his bloody face as he observed the dead bodies that were sprawled across the ground. And Marina was moving over to the broken corpse of her district partner, who up until this point Clove hadn't even taken the time to acknowledge wasn't getting back up.

"Such an idiot," Marina said, shaking her head. Only her voice didn't sound sarcastic, or bitter. If anything it sounded just the tiniest bit sad.

She was right, though. The boy was an idiot. He had trained his entire life to die within the first five minutes of the games. It was pathetic.

But she spared little thought on this matter, because now she was entirely focused on Glimmer who had coaxed Cato out from his trance with a playful tap to his shoulder. It was curious to watch because Clove couldn't imagine Cato flirting- courtship required a level of civility she was sure he did not possess. This was confirmed in the expression his features displayed in response to Glimmers touch. It wasn't light hearted or friendly.

Rather it distinctly reminded Clove of the one he wore last night- had that only been last night?

Not once throughout the day had her kiss with Cato intruded upon her thoughts. She brushed it off as nothing more than a collide of their episodes- both of them had been in such a state. Though, she couldn't deny that it was an exhilarating experience because it had been the first time she was able to release her buildup of manic energy on an actual human being without breaking or killing them, and even getting some back in return. It was a satisfaction she had not expected.

"We need to clear out of here so they can collect the bodies," Marvel was saying from the Cornucopia.

Clove agreed, now noticing Fish Heads skull deflating into the ground. Absently, she said to herself, "They're already starting to rot."

At the words, they all turned to her with expressions that suggested she had sporadically grown fourteen more arms. Cato was the only one who smiled.

"What?" she snapped. Was she not allowed to speak now?

After a prolonged silence Glimmer snorted, "You look disgusting."

Naturally her first reaction was to hurl a knife into Glimmer's eye. Then her second was to restrain herself. Then her third was to question why she was restraining herself. She could kill her here. There would be no repercussions, no body to hide.

Oh right, the alliance.

Somewhere down the ongoing line of her thought process, she finally questioned what Glimmer had been talking about. So she touched her cheek.

She wasn't just splattered with blood, like Marvel. Rather she was almost coated. She could feel it as it began to clot on her face, perhaps confused that it wasn't in a living breathing body system any longer. It was everywhere; her left arm, her neck, even her cloths. Most of it must have been from when Cato decapitated the boy while he was still on top of her.

"That is just vile," Marvel said crinkling his nose in disgust. He headed for the woods, spear in hand, with Marina and Lover Boy in his wake. But Clove didn't follow him. Rather, she glared at Glimmer. The corner of her red painted lips twitched up into a smile. Everything still held an unreal quality. For a moment she was sure the girl was a doll made out of porcelain and thread rather than flesh and bone.

"I'd wash that off sweetheart," she said. Before flipping golden tresses over her shoulder and galloping off into the woods with the rest of them she sneered, "Remember you need to look good for the cameras."

If Clove had not been considering her words, Glimmer would have had a knife lodged into her back the second she turned around. But instead she was reminded of something she had forgotten- that all of this was television. Hundreds of thousands of eyes were watching them, had been watching them. And they had seen everything.

She saw the bodies of her victims laid across the landscape in a new light- one she had never really considered before despite how obvious it was. The girl from Seven with bright lacerations across her face and angry, gnarled purple tissue spilling forth from her throat like a flower, was staring at her now with a pair of wide accusing eyes.

Of course the blood thirsty sponsors of the Capitol enjoyed the show. But did the mother back in District Seven who watched her child scream in a wild fit of agony before being stabbed to death like it as much? Or the girlfriend in Nine whose body was probably racking with tears at this very instant? What about the brother who was still in disbelief before a screen somewhere in Ten, unable to realize he would never get his sister back?

They all watched their loved ones die in vicious, brutal ways. And the girl who had slaughtered their son, their daughters, their lovers, their friends, stood erect and alive for them all to see while she polished her knife and touched the blood on her face.

They wanted to see her die, she was sure of this. At this moment there must have been at least a dozen people who wanted to inflict the worst pain imaginable upon her. They wanted to see her destroyed, mangled, beaten. They wanted vengeance.

_Watch my flesh torn apart by the worms and the bugs in the confines of hell._

She wished she could see them now. She wanted to see the anger in their faces; she wanted the reckless burn of their animosity. Let it wash across her body, scotch her till it was all she could feel. She closed her eyes and wished for it to consume her, to bring along an almighty gratification at their suffering.

_Dream of me_, she begged them. _See me in your waking hours. Let me haunt your thoughts. Let me poison the sweet memories you have of the ones you loved most who died at my hand. Let their blood never leave you._

Because it would never leave her.

May they hate her till they die. May they find her one day and do everything they possibly could to make her pay for what she had done. May they destroy her. May they try.

What they didn't know was that her hatred toward them was just as ferocious, maybe even more so.

Cato's voice pulled her back. He had been watching her with his head cocked to the side.

"No, you should keep the blood," he said. "It suits you."

* * *

><p>Clove counted the fires of the cannon. In all they had killed eleven. The chatter of the others came from somewhere behind her. They were ranking each other- who had the most kills, who would get the next. She cared for no part of it. She wanted to stay leaned against a tree, watching hover crafts lift the bodies away, undisturbed.<p>

But then she heard Glimmer.

"_Where are you going, handsome_?"

Just as she turned to the words, she saw a figure dart past her. It was a boy, one of the smaller tributes. He had a large Three on the back of his jacket.

Instantly she was on his tail but now he was far away, out of her throwing range. She didn't want to waste another knife so she followed him until the others had fallen farther behind from exhaustion and his pace had slowed down considerably. Her aim by then was slightly off from a similar fatigue, so she only got him in the calf rather than in the back. He collapsed onto the ground.

She had him.

He struggled to keep going but it was too late. The wind that been knocking out of him. He couldn't move. Her knees dug into his ribs.

"What's happened, sweetheart?" she said, taking in the Three. "Didn't want to leave your little friend behind?"

The boy kept his eyes snapped shut. With the tip of the blade she gently carved around them without breaking skin, not just yet. Beneath her knees his body began to shake as violently as a leave in the wind and his lips pulled over a pair of large front teeth.

"You're scared?" she asked. She could tell by his breathing he was fighting back tears. Or maybe hyperventilating. The boy shook his head.

"Yes you are," she said. "You don't want to die?"

He shook his head again. No. He didn't want to die.

And then the collar of her shirt was tugging into her neck and she was in the air. With a painful smack her head hit the ground. In utter bewilderment she sat up three feet from where she had originally perched on top of the Three's body to see Cato, laughing. He turned away from her and stepped toward the boy, his sword raised. Three let out a strangled cry and shielded his face with his arms.

How dare he. That was_ her _kill.

"_Wait_!"

It was Lover Boy. With force he almost ripped Glimmer away from the half circle she, Marvel and Marina had formed behind them so he could push himself in. He moved to stand over the boy, dangerously close to Cato, and almost accusingly said, "You! In your interview with Caesar, weren't you describing the voltage patterns on the reboot connector of a Sterochip?"

"Y-yes," the boy stammered.

"That is amazing!" Lover Boy almost gasped. "I mean even coming from your District. The fact that you can do that as only a teenager is absolutely insane."

"Are you serious right now?" Cato snarled. Now the sword was pointed at Lover Boy.

Lover Boy didn't seem very alarmed. Rather, he looked at Cato with an expression still mesmerized by the boy from Three, as if Cato's warning had been as insignificant as the wail of a child. "Are _you _serious?" he said. "Do you know how incredible that is? He knows how to wire a_ microscopic _device that has _just_ come out onto the market in the Capitol. The complexity, the ingenuity of it all is absolutely remarkable. It would be a waste to kill him. He could be an asset to us."

In an instant Cato's entire face flushed red. His nostrils flared.

"_To hell with the girl_," was all he bellowed.

He raised the sword, ready to shove it straight through Lover Boy's chest, but District Three suddenly cried out, "_I can be an asset_!"

They all looked to him. Cato halted his sword. "What?" he snapped.

"I-I-I… Yes. If you- I mean, if I was to find some shovels or s-some way to dig up the bombs around the p-podiums… I maybe could... r-reactive them… and then I could p-place-" he trailed off. His dark eyelashes were still squinted together. The shaking of his body didn't permit his words to continue.

Clove wanted his blood. She was just about to push aside Cato and Lover Boy and reclaim him for herself when Marvel's eyes suddenly widened and in astonishment he finished, "Place them around the Cornucopia."

"No one has ever done that before in the Games," Marina said. "We could stock pile all our stuff here and no one could touch it."

This idea seemed to settle into Marvel, Glimmer and Marina. But Clove didn't care. They didn't need this desperate sad little bug from Three. Cato must have agreed with her because he leaned down over the boy with a menacing smile. But when he spoke it was directed to the rest of them. "So what?" he said. "Having someone stand on guard would have the same effect."

"But it wouldn't," Lover Boy pointed out. "I mean there's six of us right? So absolutely no more than two people could stay on guard at a time. Though I'm sure most of you aren't going to want to do that. And besides, Thresh got away. He's out there somewhere. And if he comes back he could over power most of us pretty easily and take all food that's there for himself."

Cato and Lover Boy locked eyes. Then Lover Boy just shrugged, "I don't know. It just seems like a good idea to me."

Clove was sure Cato was going to slay them both. She silently encouraged him to do it. But he didn't. Instead after what seemed to be a long while, the sword fell to his side. He jabbed a finger into the chest of Three.

"Listen to me," he growled. "We're taking you back to the Cornucopia. You have the rest of the day to get this done. If you fuck up, I kill you. If you start taking food, I kill you. If you get in my way, I kill you. When there's only a few of us left, I kill you. Understand?"

Even after Cato had stormed away with clenched fists, Clove still had trouble processing what had just happened. Not only had Lover Boy stood to Cato and lived, but he had swayed his decision to kill the boy. And now he stood with crossed arms, watching Cato with calm blue eyes, without even a trace of gratitude or even relief on his features.

If she hadn't been before, now she was_ sure_ every second they allowed him to live was a mistake. Perhaps she would take initiative and just end it.

"Oh for God's sake, _get up_," Marvel sighed, rolling his eyes. District Three had not moved an inch on the ground, and continued to quiver where he lay with eyes snapped shut. "We're not going to kill you yet."

However the words didn't rouse him. So Lover Boy hauled him up. Even as District Three stood he still held his eyes closed. "Hey!" Lover Boy snapped at him. "You are alive, alright?"

His words were harsh, but Clove heard the encouragement hidden beneath them.

"Not for long," she said. She was angry, really angry. If Cato had not pulled her off, he could have been dead. She was sure to stay ahead of them as she stomped off to the Cornucopia. She hated this alliance.

She would continue to hate it until it was broken.


	10. The Killer

******EDIT**** Okay I've made a few changes to this, taking your guys reviews into account. I also added some more Clove Inspiration down below ;) Thanks again for your reviews!**

**Hellooo everyone! Finally… **_**finally**_** final exams are over. So for the duration of the summer (and probably the story) you can expect to see chapters coming out pretty rapidly now. As usual thank you to all of you who review. I feel so grateful to have so many of you who have been sticking with the story for so long. And for those of you who just found this please do tell me what you think. Good, bad, I want to hear it all. **

**I've been working on editing some of the previous chapters. And there were so many mistakes. I am genuinely sorry for sucking so much, really. **

**I want to give a special shout-out all the way over to Deutschland to the sweetheart Lunatic9289 who was kind enough to offer to translate **_**The Blood of the Beast**_** into German! The links to both translations (ones here on FF and the other is on a German-based website) are: [**** . c c / ] and [ : / / w w w . s / / 1 / ] Once again I can't say thank you enough! Ser****iously do you guys ever stop getting more and more awesome?**

**With all that being said everything belongs to the wonderful and ever so talented Suzanne Collins. And I tried to fulfill some of your requests by taking a step in Cato's head for some of this chapter. It's not my usual, so please do tell me what you think! Also this is my longest chapter yet! Over 8000 words. So hopefully that makes up for the time lapse. **

**WARNING: Theres gonna be some language folks.**

* * *

><p>"MISERY is manifold. The wretchedness of earth is multiform. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow, its hues are as various as the hues of that arch, -as distinct too, yet as intimately blended."<br>_  
><em> - _Berenice_, Edgar Allan Poe

**10.**

Cato was sure to put distance between himself and them, the Capitol wouldn't want to see their beloved alliance entirely _slaughtered_ on the very first day.

Oh, but he could do it. The idea was enough to send electricity through his limbs. His fingers clenched around the handle of his sword. He_ could_ turn around right now and kill them. All of them if he wanted to.

Lover Boy would be first, for sure, simply because he had just pissed him off. Then he would slice straight through Three. Cato had already forgotten the logic that kept him from splattering the weaklings blood across the trees. He deserved it, the pathetic little creature. Nothing that feeble had the right to live.

Just for the hell of it he could then kill District Four. Or Glimmer whose sweet neck called for his hands, but he wouldn't strangle her, no. Her cries would have to be heard throughout Panem. But then of course there was Marvel- Cato had been drawing out a glorious plan for him, one that seemed to change with every snide comment that would pass his pale lips, every_ sneer_-

He couldn't take these thoughts anymore so he dropped the sword and pounded his fist hard into a tree, taking satisfaction in the crack of his bones and the pain that assaulted his knuckles and wrist.

If he hadn't done that, lust would have taken over and he would have turned back and satisfied these beautiful ideas. But that would have been such a waste. His alliance needed to be saved for the end- one last magnificent show for the Captiol and of course for himself seeing that these would be the last kills he could perfect without having to worry about meaningless repercussions.

The soft hum of their voices traveled to him now. And then he knew they saw him when their sounds fell silent. _They feared him_. Every last one of them feared him.

And he loved it.

They would _try_ to hide it, try to hide their weakness, but he knew better. Glimmer was so sure her soft hands and the curve of her hip would keep him from breaking every bone in her beautiful face, because she didn't know he could see the caution she tried to hold behind her smiles. Marvel in all his _God damned_ apathy could keep his chin tilted back but he would never try to openly defy him, no never that. Lover Boy would continue to check on him from time to time because he thought he wasn't looking, and for this he was a fool, because Cato was always looking.

He made sure that they feared them. He made sure every player on that field feared him. Though there was one exception. _Just one_ little exception that now moved alone and silent into the dark trees ahead without regard toward any of them, without regard toward him, without any_ fucking_ regard toward _anything_.

_The young, the beautiful, the deadly…_

Oh but Caesar didn't even _know_. None of the Capitol did. Maybe they thought they could see it in the sharp curve of her jaw or the lethal curl of her lip but_ it_ went so much deeper than just ascetics. Not even during the bloodbath could they have seen just how_ deadly_ she could be. But Cato knew of her beautiful deadliness, and that was the only way it could be accurately described- _beautiful_. In quiet moments he could see her dreaming behind those black, black irises of all the ways she could kill him, and the corners of that mouth, that _beautiful _fucking mouth, would pull up in a sneer that could usher in his maddening fury and he could barely keep himself from tearing her to pieces. Once, her tongue had told him of her_ deadliness_ as it ran over the blood that flowed from the gash her teeth had made in his neck.

But nothing had showed_ it_ more than when she held his hand to her face and just _breathed _into it again and again and she hardly moved and she was just deadly, deadly, always so _deadly_.

They didn't know of these things, but they would see. And they would understand why he would save her for the very last.

How he couldn't wait to kill her_._

Brutus had suggested the idea as if it had been original but he already had it decided the day of their Reaping. When they stood together in the rumbling cart of their train to the Capitol, his first words to her had been to tell her she was utterly forgettable, and as they passed beneath a tunnel the flickering orange lights illuminated her gnarled smile and she whispered so low, "_Wait and see what I can make of you_." Then the moment was gone, they were bathed in the sunlight streaming through the windows once more, the listlessness had made its way back to her dark eye and the smile was gone, but he had seen it,_ God_ he had seen it.

And from that moment he had drowned in her name.

_Clove_.

He would make her death something special. It would be the grandest of all. It would be gorgeous and vicious, so_ vicious_, just like her. And the Capitol would love it. But it wouldn't be for them. Hers wouldn't be like the others; it wouldn't be for the pride of his District, it wouldn't be for the Games, it wouldn't be for the satisfaction of his rage or ego which both could be considered entities all their own.

No, it would be only for_ him_.

If he could, he would kill her somewhere where the camera lenses couldn't reach because he wanted it to be between them and no one else. He wanted to be the only one who would hear the painfully sharp _snap_ as he began by breaking her delicate, delicate collar bone- how many nights had he laid awake thinking again and again of that one particular part of her? He wanted to be the only one who would see the trembling of her lower lip or the crinkle in the corner of her eye as she fought back the unbearable pain he inflicted upon her.

But it was okay he would have to share these sights and sounds with the masses, because it would still be he alone who did these things to her.

No one else would leave bruises across her skin. No one else would slowly, very slowly break each of her bones. She wouldn't_ shriek_ anyone else's name. No one else would feel her _blood_, the blood he had longed to see. No, no one else would do her death justice like he would. And he would let _no one_ else kill her. She would be his.

His young, beautiful, deadly Clove.

"Did we miss any more action?"

Glimmer had gaited beside him and stood with hands on her hips, taking in his now swollen fist covered with streams of blood. Action, she questioned? _Yes, you missed the action. Had you been here for it, your pretty skull would now be in pieces on the ground. _

"I don't think it was anything you wanted to be there for, my dear," he sneered.

There it was again. Her smile. She really thought she was so good at hiding it, didn't she? Her finger tips trailed against his arm and she said with her lips brushing against his ear, "But anywhere you are is where I want to be."

He saw her perfect nose twitch, the whiteness of her teeth gleam for just a moment. She truly was a magnificent creature; as gorgeous as every commentator and designer back in the Capitol had said. But Cato had perfected the art of destroying beautiful things.

She broke their eye contact quickly and then her golden hair was swishing across her back as she trotted in her usual way down the slope to join the rest of them in what she was sure was a sexy display of swaying her hips but Cato knew was a hasty retreat. Because she knew he couldn't wait to break her.

Left alone, he tried to assess the decision he had made to keep Three now that his fire had passed. But Cato was never very good with evaluations and the only thing he could manage to think clearly was how he would literally carve Lover Boy's heart from his chest once they found the girl. Panem would appreciate that.

His annoyance with Lover Boy only increased when he approached the group of them at the Cornucopia, all surrounding the boy from Three who still physically shook, his knobby knees nearly making a _clacking _sound as they bounced together. Cato hated him. He was weak. He was so, so incredibly weak and he didn't even try to hide it. It was pathetic.

The boy was nothing more than an insect that needed to be squashed. Cato had just about made the decision to slice him in half (hold him in front of Lover Boy, first, so he could be doused in the blood he had so boldly thought he saved) when the child's bulging eyes stopped him. It was incredible, how _loud_ they were. He never knew eyes could scream like that. He could feel his lips nearly roll across his wet teeth as they pulled into an involuntary smile.

_If you keep him alive you can see this more than just once,_ said the voice of something dark.

Cato agreed. He thoroughly enjoyed the boy's screaming eyes.

He raised one finger and pointed to the nearest podium. "Get digging," he commanded.

When the boy scrambled off, Cato decided that Insect was a good name for him. It had a nice ring to it.

As the Insect began to tear into the earth with his bare hands, he noticed Clove's distant figure bobbing beside the tree trunks that guarded the lake far across the field. She hadn't stopped near the Cornucopia with the rest of them. Cato decided he desired to see the tightening of her jaw and her lips as they pressed together in annoyance. So he jerked his chin to Marvel in a silent order to watch the Insect and followed the path he had watched her take.

When he found her, she had her back to him and was completely still as she sat in the sands with her hands in the water. He was sure to be as quiet as he approached her while he decided in what way he could piss her off. Maybe lift her from the ground and throw her into the water. Her face would harden to stone from her anger, just as it did when he had plucked her from the Insect and tossed her aside before she had the chance to cut him. He reveled in the mental image he had captured of her features as she lifted her head from the ground to glare at him. It had been enough to make him laugh, at the time-

Suddenly the splashing of water disrupted the silence and before he had time to lift his sword, or even duck for that matter, one of her knives was zipping past him through the air, just barely slicing into the side of his neck. It landed with a heavy _thunk_ into the wood of the tree at his back.

For a moment he was wild in his confusion. He raised the sword stupidly only to realize that it would do nothing against Clove who could throw a dozen knives into his body before he could even cross the four yards that stood between them. This wasn't the same girl who he had been able to hold at his mercy back in the Capitol- this girl had her weapons now. A single word taunted as she moved toward him with nothing more than an indifferent stare that was enough to make his blood boil.

_Dangerous_.

He was hardly able to think as she used one small but powerful hand to lower his sword. Then a wisp of her breath touched his lips and the metal of her knife moved past his skin as she thrust it from where it had lodged deep into the tree. Her chin was raised but her eyelids partially concealed her dark orbs as she eyed his neck and used her sleeve to tenderly wipe away a surprising amount of blood that seeped from the fresh cut her weapon had dug.

"The next time you get in my way and take what's rightfully mine," she said very simply, then lifted her eyes. "_I won't miss_."

Those eyes, those eyes. They simmered like burning tar and charred every inch of his body. He wanted to tear them from their sockets. The cameras had caught everything and all of Panem just got to witness his weakness at her hands. He could hear them from all the way back in District Two as they howled like dogs at the sight of the Cato they all feared; the Cato who parted crowds in the street as he passed- at the mercy of the short, freckled, smirking Clove. If only they could have seen her last night when those same hands that now brushed against his jaw had fluttered uselessly as her ribs threatened to break. Or maybe the blood that rushed to her face as she _screamed_. But instead they got to watch her hold him against a tree and plant a knife gingerly at the hollow beneath his chin.

So he tried to keep himself satisfied by imagining her body being ripped apart, starting with those lips that now curled at the corners, because she knew he was angry that she _had him_. His vision tinted red as she rose to her toes and the fingers of her free hand gripped the fabric of his shirt. The blood of the tribute he had killed was now smeared across her cheek and beads of pink water dripped from her sharp chin. Her lips pressed into the corners of his mouth, successfully further humiliating him. Just as he was about to throw her off, she whispered, "You're so predictable, Cato."

Instantly his arms flew to trap her so he could cause her body such unbearable pain she would want nothing more than to eat those fucking words three times over. But she was fast and with ease she avoided his hands as they tried to grab her by her hair. Before he had time to steady himself, her back was turned to him again and she was walking away with her head thrown back,_ laughing_. He had never heard her laughter before.

He decided he hated it.

It was too high, too piercing, too _twisted_. His teeth gritted at the sound and in that moment he reminded himself, _In the end I'll have you. I'll fucking have you._

* * *

><p>They had decided they were going to wait to go hunt the other tributes. It was early after all, the games had just begun. For now they could relax until sundown and wait until they could see the fires so they wouldn't have to blindly comb through the woods, lest they exert too much energy all at once.<p>

The cruel irony of it all cut deep into Peeta as he watched the boy from Three who dug so frantically into the earth that dirt flew in the air around him. He could hear his pants and see the sweat that pooled in the creases of his now filthy forehead despite the distance between them. Blood stained his pant leg purple and Peeta could tell that the thin bandage they had so graciously provided him had done nothing to stop the bleeding of his wound. His heavy breaths were interrupted from time to time by a poorly stifled sob.

Meanwhile Marvel lounged in the shade of the Cornucopia on a bin of apples and Glimmer complained about the heat and food selection.

Peeta had been watching Three work for almost two hours now; digging, pulling out the explosive, rewiring it, moving on, digging. As he tinkered with the first bomb there were moments when he would flinch away with his hands over his ears. But then after he made sure he was still alive he would hesitantly continue. Peeta was thankful the others had not noticed this- especially Cato.

He didn't dare look at the horrific District Two tribute now. With eyes like a dragon he had been watching over Peeta, waiting for him to break. In less than a day the boy had managed to broaden the scope of how much hostility and brutality Peeta thought was possible in human beings, despite the fact that he had watched sixteen Hunger Games, heard the tales of fifty-nine, and lived in a society that forced children to fight to the death for the entertainment of a nation. But Peeta managed to keep the terror at bay by reminding himself of Katniss. He_ had_ to keep a straight face at all times if he wanted to save her. He would have to be one of the Careers, maybe even until the moment he died.

Though, when the boy from Three almost fell into a hole as he struggled to pull up another explosive, Peeta couldn't just sit by any longer. Thinking quick he sighed loud enough in exasperation for the party to hear, "_this is never going to get done_," and hobbled over-still barely able to walk properly after fighting in the blood bath and silently praying a spear wouldn't suddenly impale his chest.

Nothing came. So he risked nothing more by looking back.

The boy's shoulders flinched when Peeta's shadow engulfed him in its darkness. He was wincing as he snapped around to face him, only on his knees. Shaking. Dirt coated his arms and in the creases of his mouth. He was drenched in sweat. Worst of all his eyes were rimmed with tears. Peeta was instantly sickened.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'll go faster, I swear-"

"You're fine," Peeta said as quietly as he could. "Move aside, I'll lift it."

The boy didn't move and continued to wince as if he had already been struck. Peeta was reminded of Clove's legs as they slipped away from the mouth of the Cornucopia- she crouched like a cat on its cylindrical roof, and right now her eyes were probably glued to both of them. In a voice even more inaudible than before he said beneath his teeth, "Please, you have to be brave right now or they'll kill us both."

A pair of thin lids slid down the boys wide eyes and Peeta watched the rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath. When they lifted to reveal his brown orbs again, Peeta was relieved to see that he had stopped shaking. As Peeta reached down into the hole to raise the explosive, the boy spoke in a steady voice. "Make sure you only touch the red and yellow sides of the rim. Do you see it?"

"Yeah," Peeta said. Pain shot through his legs as he kneeled down but with little difficulty he used two hands to pluck the device from the ground as if it had been nothing more than an over-grown turnip. He felt blood pulse through the open wound on his arm and soak the surrounding bandage. Even though he was injured, he still had his upper body strength. This triggered a voice to ring through his ears.

_What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour._

He replayed it a few more times to take himself away from the arena for a moment. Even though he was here,_ she_ was here hiding amongst the trees, somewhere; even though the memory was from when they had sat with Haymitch in the Capitol discussing strategy, her voice took him back home to District Twelve. It took him to his days at school when he would watch her from a distance in the courtyard while she wasn't looking and the wind would play with the light flyaways of her braid in the sun.

_Bags of flour, bags of flour._

He fought hard to keep back a smile.

Three worked diligently. His nimble fingers could have been creating artwork as they rearranged brightly colored wires into what seemed to be elaborate patterns while they sparked and hissed at one another in protest. Peeta himself felt like flinching away as he watched him but after some trial and error Three must have become very confident in his work. The boy truly was brilliant, though not brilliant enough to put distance between himself and the Cornucopia. Peeta wondered why he stayed back.

This went on for another round; the boy dug, Peeta lifted, the boy worked. As he focused on delicately pulling a red wire from a pale green, Peeta leaned in close to him as if he was overwhelmed with curiosity and asked in a low voice, "What is your name?"

He was sure to keep his eyes away from Three's so the others wouldn't become suspicious if they weren't already. Three knew to do the same.

"Circuit," he whisphered.

Had they been under different circumstances, Peeta would have cracked a smile. Circuit? It was certainly different from common names given back in District Twelve, but he liked Circuit. It was a nice, suiting name for the boy.

"You're Peeta, right?" Circuit asked, keeping his focus on his work. "The baker?"

_Careful, careful,_ Peeta thought suddenly tensing up. Circuits voice had not been loud but Peeta was still paranoid. He didn't dare look directly at the Careers but rather he stood up and cracked his back from side to side, glancing in their direction absently. Clove, he saw, had jumped from her perch and was land bound once more, pacing. Cato was still watching them both, smiling in the strangest way. The others seemed didn't seem to be paying attention.

Seeing that the coast was clear and their meaningful exchange wasn't being monitored, entirely, he couldn't help but feel a little surprised that the boy had recalled not only his name but his premise. He knew small bits of information about Circuit, of course- enough that he was able to convince Cato to spare him, but that was because Peeta paid attention to detail. He knew most weren't like that, he just really liked people. He had remembered nearly every tribute from their interviews with Caesar; like that girl from Seven who Clove had cut up really loved animals, or the boy Cato had hacked in half who was able to replicate the exact chirp of a cricket and drip of a raindrop.

"Yes," Peeta finally responded. "You remembered that?"

"Yeah," Circuit said, the corners of his lips working hard to feign indifference. "I liked that joke you made about the bread from your district- how the special ingredient was coal. It made me laugh."

Peeta's heart sank. Wouldn't he have loved to make poor Circuit laugh again? But he couldn't here. So to keep the potential moment of happiness at bay, they succumbed to silence once more and continued with their robotic tasks. Circuit continued to rewire and dig alone. Peeta continued to act as though he was keeping an awfully close eye on him and lifted explosives from the ground once they were unearthed.

Sometime later as the falling sun cast a pink light onto Circuits cheek while he worked on his fourth explosive, he kept his eyes cast down as he said, "Thanks for saving my life."

Peeta only gave a curt nod in return because he couldn't risk saying anything more.

But if he could have responded, he would have told Circuit that he wished he never had to.

* * *

><p>Clove bit down hard into the meat of an apple and after only a few chews decided she didn't want it anymore. She had paced, climbed the Cornucopia again, made her rounds near the lake, across the field and in the surrounding woods a dozen times, but still she was restless. She wanted to go, she wanted to <em>hunt<em>. They had been waiting around all day without making any real moves to look for the other tributes. It had been a solid few hours now, they were all well rested, and they had camping gear and night glasses so_ why were they still sitting around this God damn Cornucopia?_

When she snarled the question at Marvel who seemed to be gazing at his own reflection in the head of his spear, he said without really looking at her, "You don't want to miss the show, do you?"

He was referring to the death toll of the day. The sun was setting over the black trees in the distance. Night would fall soon. But she could care less to see it. She knew who she killed. She could give a damn about the others. Besides they had heard no cannons since initial battle. No one new died today.

_Probably because we were all on our asses._

Her nose twitched.

"I'm going out again," she said to no one in particular.

"Can't you give it a rest, Clove?" Marina sighed. She was leaning against the wall of the Cornucopia beside Marvel, weaving nets out of cords of wire they had been provided. "It isn't like they're going anywhere. Besides I don't think anyone else would be stupid enough to stay within a miles radius of this place."

Clove tilted her head. _My, my, my_ how gutsy the sea slug has become since she got her hands on those heavy weapons of hers. Too heavy, if you asked Clove. Too_ slow_.

She was right though, Clove had combed through the surrounding woods three times now and she had not found anything. The Capitol must be getting bored. Perhaps she should throw in a surprise twist by killing the sea slug. She was just pulling out a knife she particularly favored- one with an almost curled tip and a light handle, when Cato stepped in front of her.

"I'm coming," he said.

"No one invited you," Clove snapped at him.

"I don't need an invitation," Cato sneered.

She was sure to stay still long enough to glare at him before turning on her heel and stomping her feet a good amount as she tried to stay as far away from him as she could. She could hear him telling the others to get their gear set up so they could leave when he got back and to keep an eye on Three. So he was only coming to entertain her? She went faster.

She reached the woods before he did. The now black canopy created a kaleidoscope of colors down through its branches- pinks, purples, oranges. It bathed the floor in similar patterns of black and bright color. With careful feet she moved down the large slope of a valley, noticing she had yet to travel into this part of the woods and just_ itching_ to kill someone since _Cato_ had pulled her off Three. Though she had gotten sufficient payback on him, if she did say so herself. A smile crept to her face at the thought of his teeth as they bore at her after she had dodged his blows. Where was the big idiot now? She didn't hear his loud, clumsy footsteps anymore.

When she turned she saw he wasn't behind her. Good, she didn't want his company anyway. He had pissed her off enough for one day. The first day, let alone.

She had hardly taken two steps when suddenly someone was behind her, tackling her to the ground. Instantly she panicked- they had her arms behind her back so she could do nothing with her weapons. A hand was forcing her head into the ground and dirt flooded into her nose as she foolishly inhaled. She couldn't even see her attacker though she was sure from the size it was a male. A_ large_ male. Suddenly the horror occurred to her.

_What if this was-?_

"_Cato_!" she bellowed. He was close maybe he could hear her. "Cato!"

And then she heard his laughter. It took her a good minute to sort out her confusion and realize that her attacker _was _Cato. _Damn him_! She cursed herself for being such an idiot. Not only had she automatically assumed the worst but she had called out _his _name. Why hadn't she predicted this? _Because he isn't that predictable,_ said a voice. She hushed it.

"You piece of shit!" she snarled, thrashing her arms which were still in his grasp. Anger immediately flared in her abdomen and flowed uncontrollably into the rest of her. He had made her look so _weak_.

He lowered his mouth to her ear and spoke between clenched teeth. "Make me look like a fool again, and the arms come off," he said.

She stopped moving so he would let off her. Once he did, she would cut him. Nowhere fatal just yet. But just enough to draw an amount of blood sufficient enough for revenge.

In the silence they were able to hear something in the distance. The cracking of tree branches. It could have been an animal, perhaps they would have just brushed it off as such if they hadn't heard the faint cry that accompanied it.

Instantly Cato was off her. The both shot to their feet, standing still for a moment, continuing to listen. Clove looked at him and in the fading sunlight she saw agreement in his eyes. Yes, let's go.

They moved silently but rapidly to the source of the noise. It had not been that far from where they stood and yet they saw no one anywhere. The voice had sounded like a girl. So where was she? They froze when they heard another ruffle of branches. Unsure, Clove looked to the canopy of trees.

If she had blinked she would have missed it. But she didn't. So she saw the faint outline of a human body _jumping_ from the trees and disappearing in the leaves. She questioned herself for a moment- could that have been a mutation? The game makers were known to throw mutts into the arena, but usually they weren't pointless, they would attack.

And then she remembered. She thought of the day they had tried to recruit Thresh- when the boy laid down his axe as he was summoned by a smiling little girl…

Yes, Clove could just barely make her out now. She could see the brown of her skin through the leaves. Cato must have realized that there was something in the trees as well, but he wasn't looking in the right spot. The girl was watching them. Clove smiled but didn't make any moves toward her right away.

Cato was at her back now, seeing what she saw. The light was fading, they wouldn't have much time.

As fast as a bird taking flight, the girl moved to the next tree- Clove only knew this from the way the branches shook. She and Cato took off after her as she moved from tree to tree faster and faster. Clove saw a large gap in the canopy and hoped that the girl would fall to the ground. But instead she watched her tiny body soar through the air. She quickened her run until the trees branches stopped shaking.

They were right beneath her, Clove was sure. She had not seen any of the surrounding branches quiver from the girl's slight body. But where was she? Clove tilted her head and felt the now chilled air against her teeth as she grinned.

"Why don't you come down to play?" she called out. "We won't bite."

There was still no movement. The sky was now periwinkle, the sun was setting rapidly. Clove continued to scan the branches.

"It's getting awfully chilly. Aren't you cold up there? We have lots of jackets and blankets, you know," she said. "We could keep you warm." She barely realized her voice was bordering a growl. But she didn't care. She wanted that little girl.

Cato who was craning his neck beside her suddenly whispered, "There you are."

Clove now saw her too, just a pair of wide eyes almost glowing white in the dimming day light. A pair of dark fingers parted the leaves. If only the girl was a bit lower, Clove could get her. But she was too high up for her knives to reach. Because she was frustrated, she tried anyway and the weapon lodged itself in high in the trunk but nowhere close to the girl.

After a moment the leaves rustled and she was hoping away again.

Clove stepped to move after her but Cato grabbed onto her arm. "We'll get her soon enough," he said with a wicked smile as he stared into the trees where the little girl had disappeared.

_We._ Clove considered this word. She had already made the decision that she would save Cato for the end- his death deserved effort and _time_. It would be a slow but she would make it spectacular, _wonderful_. She would take him down with a few knives and then carve into him until there wasn't an ounce of smooth skin left, starting with that pretty face of his. Particularly his eyes.

But then what about until then? He was her district partner. And while she could hardly say she trusted him, she trusted him a lot more than the others. Perhaps trust wasn't the right word. But what was? _We_. The word repeated itself again. _We._ It seemed to relate somehow to the smile he wore now, because he was thinking of the little girls blood, just as she would be doing if she wasn't trying to understand _We_.

The blue light of the sky was succumbing to purple, but even in the dark his eyes stayed pale. She stared into them and tried to understand the meaning the behind that single word that she just couldn't explain. But it was useless. The only things she could tell herself were that they clearly understood each other better than the rest and Cato had already seemed to decide that they were a 'we.' So for now, she saw no reason to disagree with that.

She had hardly realized that those pale eyes were staring right back at her.

Suddenly the anthem was blaring and replaced the chirps of bugs and the rustling of leaves. The faces of the dead began to flash in the night sky- their dead. The first to show was the girl from Three who peered through the branches of the trees at them. Then, Fish Head came next with his wide set brown eyes and flat turf of dark hair, smiling stupidly. Once again she was reminded of Panem who now watched. At this moment, they would be recapping each of the deaths, perhaps adding further commentary.

The girl from Seven appeared, only her face was still smooth and unscratched. Her district would be watching Clove dig her knife into the skin beneath the girl's eyes and across her forehead again at this moment. Clove smiled for them.

When the boy from Eight appeared, Cato moved his hand to Clove's cheek and grazed his thumb beneath her eye. She was unsure why, for a moment, and then saw that the face in the sky belonged to the head she had watched roll from the neck of the boy who had doused her in his blood. Blood that she hadn't completely washed from her face.

She saw the others, the boy from Nine, the girl from Ten, their eyes seemingly fixed on her. They were dead because they were weak enough to allow her to kill them. And now they got to see her stand erect and very alive. At her feet she saw their white hands reach from beneath the earth. They grabbed at her ankles, they clawed at her legs, but they could do nothing. They're ghosts were enraged as they raised from the earth to glare at her. They wanted her dead. _What shall you do to me spirits?_ she taunted.

She heard a wild laughter as the anthem ended and recognized that it was her own. She was alive and they were dead, dead, dead. And there was nothing they could do about it. _Will you haunt me_? she asked them, hoping they would. She wanted to taunt them for the rest of her life. Her laughter had become uncontrollable.

For Cato she gave a little twirl and for the surrounding trees she curtseyed. "My sincerest apologizes to Districts Seven, Nine and Ten!" she called out, saluting them in typical District Two fashion. "Blessed be you all who must recover from your losses."

Then Cato's roar of laughter followed. They were both hysterical, stomping their feet on the ground, tears rolling from their eyes. Cato clutched his stomach. Clove had to take harsh ragged breaths as she fought to inhale with each wave of unbearable laughter.

_I'm alive and you are dead._

Clove was unsure how long they stayed out there for. It could have been seconds. It could have been hours.

When she couldn't stand to laugh anymore, she reached out to touch his neck. He touched the blood on her cheek and rubbed hard to smear it across her lip, which she licked as he did.

It could have been eternities.

* * *

><p>Clove approached the fire the others had started near the Cornucopia, her shoulder only brushing against Cato's arm as they walked. Instantly Marvel was moving toward them, the fire casting dark shadows in the hallows of his cheeks and annoyance showing in the furrow of his blonde brow.<p>

"Where the_ hell_ have you two been?" he said, his deep blue eyes narrowed slits. "We've been waiting here for only God knows how long."

Cato's lip curled over his teeth as he strode hard into the boy, checking his shoulder with his own and stopping for just a moment to say in a hushed voice, "I think it's _me _who's supposed to be asking the questions around here."

Fury flushed red in Marvel's cheeks and his slighter but still muscular arms flexed when he tilted his chin toward Cato. Clove could have walked by but she wanted to soak up the rare display of anger steaming from the usually indifferent luxury tribute.

"Getting a little testy already, are we Marvel?" she asked. His nostril twitched.

"Surely not. We're all allies. Aren't we, you sweet little goblin?" he said under his breath, loud enough for her to hear but quiet enough so all of Panem could not.

She simply smiled and said nothing more. _For now,_ she thought. _For now._

The others were readying themselves. Glimmer had a sheath of arrows and her bow strung to her back. Lover Boy was tucking knives into his belt and had a pack slung over his shoulder. Marina had one arm full with coils of nets as she lit a torch in their fire.

Cato thrust a spear into the arms of the boy from Three who now sat completely spent in a chair near the fire. "You stay and guard this place till morning. Then get back to work on those bombs. Half of them better be done by the time I get back."

Then he turned to Glimmer and ordered, "Put out the fire, we don't need anything attracting the other tributes here."

Clove tucked an array of knifes into slits in her jacket. It weighed her down a bit, but it was worth it. She was sure they were tucked securely enough that if she should have to chase anyone down they wouldn't fall out.

Then they all were off into the night. Cato had tossed Clove a pair of the night vision glasses, making everything completely visible in the dark. It might as well have been daylight. She was sure to check in the treetops every now and again.

As they moved along, she noticed Marina setting up nets in various spots. "Some are made out of wire," she said grimly. "So they'll hurt if they catch someone. Hopefully we'll be able to hear their screams before they figure out how to get out.

For most of the night, their search had been fruitless. They followed noises one of them would think they heard, and find nothing. Several times it went like this and at some point Lover Boy predicted they had traveled four miles.

They decided to take a break. Marina flopped onto the soft earth, not seeming to care about the dirt that got caught in her tangles of hair. Glimmer eyed her as if she were a bug. Marvel leaned against a tree with his arms crossed, analyzing the sky. Lover boy looked interestingly nervous, which sparked suspicion in Clove.

There was something she didn't trust about him.

Lover boy was a suiting name for him – his round eyes, softened facial features, and curls of golden hair gave him the appearance of a desperate romantic. Or they were the perfect cover to a dangerously smooth talker. He spoke in a way that turned his suggestions into commands and was able to easily manipulate those around him. The others, even Cato, had all fallen victim to it. Clove was sure to not let herself.

"This is ridiculous," Glimmer moaned. "The arena is too big, what are the chances one of them is just going to pop up out here?"

"We saw the little girl," Clove said.

"And you didn't kill her?" Marvel asked with a bemused smile on his lips.

"We couldn't," Cato snapped. "She was jumping around in the trees like a fucking squirrel."

"It's too bad I wasn't there," Glimmer said, flicking the line of her bow.

To this, Marina scoffed from the rock she had relocated to. "Please," she laughed. "You would have ended up shooting one of them, let alone the girl."

Marvel snorted at her words.

Had that been Clove, she would have instantly tackled the sea slug to the ground. But instead Glimmer stayed frozen like a statue in the shadows, coming to life only as she stepped into the moonlight. Her lips which now lost their red color were smirking and her dusty gold eyebrows were arched as she crept like a cat over to the girl who still sat perched on her rock, laughing. Clove tensed, thinking that Glimmer was going to strike her, or stab her. Marina suddenly did the same.

But instead Glimmer tenderly tucked a curl behind the girl's ear. "Oh, you're cute," she almost cooed. Marina seemed rather confused if not stunned all at once. Glimmer then used one finger to lift the girls chin so their noses were nearly touching as she said, "But under estimating me would be a very _stupid_ decision on your part."

Clove was reminded again of the roles they all played. Cato, the leader, Marvel, the negotiator, Twelve, the Lover Boy, or perhaps the liar- she realized what Glimmer would be. Originally she just assumed it was beauty and this would have been fitting, because beneath unearthly silver light, she was one of the most gorgeous people Clove could ever remember seeing. But no, Glimmer's role was something more. It was the way she smiled and made little subtle remarks to anger whoever her target at the time may have been- she had done it to Clove and she had even seen her do it do Marvel before. Often in the training center there would be times she would strut past him, trailing a finger across his chest, and smiling wildly to herself because she knew she was pissing him off.

Then she would wait for their muscles to tense or their faces to turn red and she would hop away. That was her strategy, Clove now understood. To make those around her lose their heads. She watched this exact thing happen to Marina as she tightened her mouth and narrowed her eyes while Glimmer of course, flounced off.

This was the game Glimmer played. The Instigator.

She was sure to elbow Marvel in the hard chest as she passed him. "And don't you laugh too hard, or I might just have to show you," she said.

Marvel kept his face entirely unfazed. "Please, my dear, don't tempt me," he said.

As she watched Glimmer sneer at him, Clove wondered what her own role was.

Then Cato was up in a flash and pointing to the sky. Clove tried to see what he was pointing at, and it took leaning her head this way and that to find it. But when she did she smiled just as Cato did while he said, "Fire."

* * *

><p>It took them a long while to follow the plume of smoke. When it had become larger and less distant, the sky was beginning to brighten, signaling the coming of dawn. Then they saw her.<p>

It was a girl, sitting beside her fire, fast asleep.

They broke out into a run, all trying to get to her first.

The girl woke up seconds too late. She was madly screaming as Cato hauled her up by the collar of her shirt. "Please!" she begged. Clove smiled, hearing a different voice, frantically crying the same word.

Cato took the girls arms and pinned them at her back so harshly Clove heard the girl's bones crack. Fat tears instantly spilled on to her pudgy cheeks. "Please," she said again, only now her voice was bordering a shriek. Distress widened her eyes and caused her head to flick to each of their faces. "Please! Don't kill me. Please, _please_."

"Who's is she?" Glimmer asked, ignoring her. Cato just looked at Clove a with a wicked grin. "I owe you one," he said to her.

And then, as all their heads turned and they parted for her, making a clear pathway to where Cato held the girl; and as the girl at the sight of Clove selecting a knife and wiping it on her shirt began to sob hysterically, Clove went back to her previous question of who she was in this game they played. It had been so obvious; she didn't know how she couldn't see it in the beginning.

_The Killer._

Clove strode to the girl and dug both her feet harshly into her toes, which caused her to let out a yelp. Her face was almost purple as she opened her mouth wide and sobbed. "Please!" she begged again, frantically. "Please, please just don't kill me. I want to live, I want to live."

Clove smiled and whipped a trail of snot from the girl's nose. "Why shouldn't I kill you?" she whispered.

"I don't want to die," she screamed. "I'm too young. Please-"

Her sobs were too ragged now. Clove looked playfully up to Cato, who still stood behind the girl, sandwiching her between them. "Oh Cato," she breathed. "She doesn't want us to kill her."

Cato's eyes only burned with anticipation. Clove turned her focus back to the girl. She had seen her in the training center before- she was from District Eight. She was the sad one, the one always crying. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that she would die crying too.

"Please! I don't want to die!" Eight repeated, her voice hoarse.

"Well that's too bad for you," Clove said. "Because I don't want you to live."

With that she shoved her knife hard into the girl's belly, deciding not to do anything too fun with this one. Her shrieks saved her from torture- they were getting too unpleasant, even for Clove who had found that she loved screaming victims. But she didn't mind this. The girl's flesh was soft, and in the quiet of the air she could hear the faint squish of her organs. She decided to cut up instead of down, and found a bit of bone.

Then she pulled the now deep red blade out and backed away. Cato did the same.

The girl slipped to the ground, her blood spilling onto the earth and coloring it purple.

* * *

><p><strong>Wohoo! Okay so there were parts of that I hated, parts of that I liked, and parts I just loved to write. So please tell me what you think! I especially want to hear what your thoughts on this chapter because I deviated so far from Clove's usual POV.<strong>

**Also, one last side note: recently I had a discussion (with Lunatic actually) on what I thought these characters looked like. Truthfully, as I write I don't really have an exact mental image. Of course we all know Isabelle and Leven (- legit girl-crush on her) were both absolute perfection for the roles of Clove and Glimmer, but when I write I like to hybrid how I envision these characters. Everyone is different though of course and I want you all to picture them in your own ways. But for fun I thought I'd include some of my Clove-'spiration: *( : / / . / / o m g - l), (_ : / / . / 5_), a little Marina-'spiration (_ : / / . / 5_), some Glimmer-'spiration (_ : / / . / 7_) and but of course a little Marvel too ;) ( : / / . / 2) – I know wayyyy different from Jack. But when I try to picture his high cheekbones, that's what I use. Do note the 'inspiration' and also note that this is by no means me implying that this is my illustration of what these guys look like- I want you all to create that on your own. Rather I just thought including these would be fun and I happened to come across them all once. Besides who doesn't like visuals? And yes, that is my blog. So for any of you who have a tumblr or care for any of my personal nonsense you can find me at: _ : / / . . c o m_.**

**Anyway I hope you guys liked that! My next update should be coming soon.**


	11. The Trials of the Dead

**Quote from last week: "****So for the duration of the summer (and probably the story) you can expect to see chapters coming out pretty rapidly now."**

**I know, I know: I suck. Apparently my life never stops being busy with something, haha. For those of you who don't know I was vacationing in California for a while (which by the way WAS AWESOME. Anyone living in the Santa Monica area just know that I hate you out of pure unprecedented jealousy) and since I've been home I've been occupying my time with friends and work and all that other nonsense… so to say the least making the time to write this has been a challenge. But finally it is complete!**

**So you all probably know what's coming up in this chapter (well for the first part atleast… heh heh hehhh ;)). I just wanted to make a little note that I wrote the Katniss-hidden-in-a-tree-Career interaction with the entire scene from the book nearly word to word in my mind: including the parts where the careers weren't given specific dialogue. For example: "She heard them rummaging through the girl's stuff and from the sound of it they found nothing good," or "an argument then broke out that was silenced by the others."**

**And as usual, once again I have a million thank you's to make: First to Lunatic9289 who continues to work hard on translating this story. Also to ihopeitsbeautiful who was kind enough to promote this story on her blog and make such nice comments (which she didn't tell me about and I saw on my own from about a month ago!) To gkmoberg1 who has provided me with some detailed editing on one of the chapters. And finally, as usual, to every last one of you who reads this. Your feedback and loyalty to this story not only makes me extremely happy but keeps me going. As usual this is all for you guys!**

**Once again I'm going to promo my blog because I am currently addicted to tumblr and I love following people (particularly ones who post plenty of HG gifs I can laugh at. Yeah I know I'm lame, whatever.) **

**You can find me at andastasia . tumblr **

**Ooooooooooooooooooh boy I cannot WAIT to hear your feedback on this one. I've had parts of this chapter planned out for awhilleeee. So please review! I want to hear everyone's opinion, including those of you who haven't given yours before.**

* * *

><p>"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."<p>

- _Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 146_

**11.**

Clove stared at Eight's lifeless body.

The excitement she felt as she killed the girl had been overwhelming. But it dissipated almost as rapidly as it appeared; especially considering the incredible agony she released in her screams. Why? Her death wasn't slow or long but it was brutal. And yet there Clove stood, still holding the blade, red with the girl's blood, not feeling anything except the cavity the exhilaration had torn from her chest when it left. She tried to connect small details about the body sprawled out before her with what she just had done; the trickle of blood that ran past the girl's pale lips, the gnarled flesh of her abdomen that opened to reveal the a deep grayish-blue bulge that poked it's head out from torn skin- perhaps her liver or esophagus. But none of it helped. She could have been staring at a rock. She felt empty, hollow, and just nothing. _Nothing_! Why did she feel _nothing_?

Around her, the rest of them were cheering. Another dead tribute meant that they were all one step closer to winning the games. But Clove still couldn't bring herself to truly care about winning, despite what she had said to Lyme; all she cared about were her kills. Only they were beginning satisfy her less and less, and so far she had only killed four. Frustration suddenly welled up in her stomach at the thought that all this time she had been waiting, and yet murder was nowhere near as lingering of a sensation as she had expected. When it happened, it happened, and when the victim died, it was over.

So perhaps she would need to extend the length of time they got to stay alive. Perhaps she shouldn't finish off the next so quickly.

_But even still in the end you'll be left feeling nothing_, said a voice.

Angrily, a different part of her pushed the voice from her thoughts. She didn't want to think about that; the possibility that no matter how much blood she shed, no matter how much she destroyed, in the end she would still be completely hollow. She hadn't waited all these years to come to that conclusion.

Cato's loud whoops and bursts of rough laughter that rung painfully in her ears only further added to her agitation. She wanted nothing more than to punch him until Glimmer shouted, "Twelve down and eleven to go!" with her teeth gleaming white as she smiled. This ushered in another round of cheers. Clove clenched her fists.

The only two who didn't cheer were Lover Boy and Marvel; Lover Boy seemed to be awfully focused on his arm wound, whereas Marvel, as apathetic and pretentious as always, only looked mildly disgusted as he used the end of his spear to poke the fleshy bulge spilling from the girl's opened stomach.

"Repulsive," he sniffed. He then used the weapon to lift the girl's discarded pack, lest he should actually have to bend down near the body himself. His nose lifted as he rummaged through it. "A roll of bandages, some matches- clearly _that_ didn't work well in her favor-" he said, pausing to chuckle.

"Nothing useful," Marvel declared while tossed the pack aimlessly to the ground and unintentionally smacking it against the girl's lifeless face.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," Cato sneered.

The rest of them began to move ahead but Clove took a moment to stay back and give the body one last chance to rouse some emotion out of her. But all it seemed to do was drag forth an image in her mind's eye of the hole Cato had punched into their wall the night the training scores were revealed. For some reason this ushered in an incredible wave of anxiety, shortly followed by irritation.

A billow of fog exited her mouth as she huffed in the cold. Then, she stomped off after the flickering orange flame of Cato's torch, not wanting to fruitlessly search the gawking, stupid expression of the dead girl any longer.

The woods were now bathed in the mystical blue light of the oncoming dawn. They trekked past trees with white bark and a few scurrying rabbits, but when they neared a cluster of thick trunks Glimmer asked, "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

"I'd say yes," said Marvel as he ducted to avoid a low hanging branch. "Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

Glimmer then turned over her shoulder and allowed her emerald eyes to lay on Clove. "Unless she isn't dead," Glimmer smiled.

Clove gritted her teeth, taking her statement as an insult to her ability. She was a professional killer, clearly more skilled than Glimmer; this was shown by both her ten and could be seen just from sheer observation. The _nerve_ she had to suggest otherwise. This only added onto her heightened amount of irritation.

"She's_ dead_. I stuck her myself," she snapped.

Marvel was slowing his pace and looking back now. "Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done," he said. At his words, the rest of them began to do the same.

"Yeah, we don't to have to track her down twice," Marina agreed.

Clove pursed her lips. "_I said she's dead_!" she shouted, halting completely at the rear of the group and glowering at them all. She _knew_ how to kill. She had gotten the girl in the ribs and cut enough of her inners. She was _dead_.

"Then where's the cannon?" Glimmer taunted. Her sneer was unbearable to look at. Blood instantly began to rush to Clove's face and the colors of her vision were shifting away from the dim blue of the surrounding forest.

"Clearly she isn't dead if there isn't a cannon," Marvel sighed from somewhere beside his partner, but Clove could only see Glimmer's smile. That condescending, _pompous _smile that was about to get a knife shoved straight through its lips and down into throat they concealed.

"Do cannons sound as soon as they die?" Marina's voice traveled from somewhere.

"I'm not sure. We can find out though," Clove snarled as her hand traveled down into her jacket to pull out a knife. She would need a heavy one, one that would be large enough to cleave through the mountain of arrogance Glimmer held behind that now constricted face. She looked like she was about to say something in response when suddenly Lover Boy piped up.

"We're wasting time," he shouted, his voice saturated in frustration. "I'll go finish her off and let's move on!"

Clove turned to him now. She wanted to scream for the last time that the girl was _dead _and that even if she wasn't she would bleed out anyway. But instead Cato, who only looked amused, said, "Go on, then, Lover Boy. See for yourself."

As Lover Boy moved past her she felt a spike of anger at his immediate closeness. He just thought he was so God damned _noble_ didn't he? She was growing rather tired of it. When the light of his torch was far behind them she snapped in a hushed breath, "Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?"

"Let him tag along," Marina whispered, and then added quickly. "What's the harm? He's handy with that knife."

For a moment Clove wasn't sure what she was talking about. But then she recalled how, after the fight at the Cornucopia, Marina had pulled a limp body off Lover Boy.

"Besides, he's our best chance of finding _her_," Cato said and as he did a dark smile spread on his lips and he seemed to fall away from them, lost in what Clove was sure was a fantasy of killing Katniss. He was right, though. No matter how strenuous the temptation may be she couldn't kill Lover Boy, at least not until they got the girl. Even if they didn't find her, perhaps she would find them and be lured to him.

Marina crossed her arms at Cato's words. "Why?" she huffed. "You think she bought into all that sappy romance stuff?"

Her pursed lips seemed to say something her words did not.

"She might have," Marvel said. "Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress I want to _puke_."

"Wish we knew how she got that Eleven," Glimmer said, eyeing Clove for only a moment more before shifting her gaze to the rest of them.

"Bet you Lover Boy knows," Cato smiled. As he did, the corners of his lips were as sharp as blades.

* * *

><p>The morning wind carried her voice, the cold chill almost stinging Peeta's cheeks as he approached her now dying body.<p>

"_I make dresses with my mother. We work together. We really depend on each other- for supplies and talent, I mean. My talent is more in tapering and embroidery. Hers is in creating patterns. I could never create patterns like her."_

Only two nights before, the same girl Peeta just watched Clove mutilate had said this to Caesar Flickerman while she nervously played with a stray curl beneath the harsh lights of the Capitol. Peeta had paid particular attention to her interview- maybe because he had a special weakness for pretty faces. He could remember thinking how radiant she looked that night- the soft blue tulle of her gown complementing her sunny hair (in her interview she was able to tell Caesar nearly everything about the dress she wore as if she had made it herself). He could also remember how she tried to keep her voice even as she spoke of her mother- the mother who depended on her, the mother who she depended on; and he wasn't so foolish as to believe that it was only for supplies and talent. Maybe the Capitol was, but he wasn't.

Now of course she laid face up on the ground so they could all watch her bleed out; the Capitol, her district, and her mother.

The closer he got the more he realized just how alive she still was. The girl must have either been in shock or just holding still as Clove glowered at her. Because now he could see how she shook, how her hands made small movements to touch the blood and muscles that spewed from her stomach. A small beetle was making his way to her open wound, coming very close whatever tissue it was that peaked from beneath the mutilated red flesh. Peeta took a deep breath and shut his eyes to compose himself.

Gently, as if sudden movement would cause her even more pain, he knelt down beside her. Her face was expressionless, her eyes absent as they stared ahead into nothing. But she was still alive. Her breaths were rapid and harsh. Without looking fully at the gore beneath her chest, he plucked the beetle away.

Of all the things he could recall from this girl's interview, he couldn't draw forth her name. It was something lovely, maybe Ella or perhaps Anna. But he just couldn't remember. He hated himself for forgetting.

Peeta knew he couldn't take too long; the others were waiting and he wouldn't be able to stand thinking too deeply into what the girl's life _could have _been if she had never left her home; if she had never left behind her sewing needles and the pots of flowers she grew by her window, mostly daises in the summer, sometimes lilies in spring- or if she had never left her mother.

But he had some things he had to say. The most important came first.

"I'm sorry, this happened," he whispered as touched her cheek. He wasn't sure if she could hear. Even if she couldn't, this wasn't just for her. This was for the Game Makers because he knew at least they were watching. This would never make it to the rest of Panem or anyone who knew this girl back in Eight. But he wanted them to hear him, see her and see what they had done.

"I'm sorry I let her do this to you. I'm sorry-" his breath suddenly hitched. He took a deep inhale and very rapidly, anger washed over him. It wasn't anger toward Clove; although all this time it had been _she _who was the real monster. He thought it was Cato, but it was the boys very aggression that blinded him to the true nature of his district partner who didn'tcare to make sure they were all looking when she killed, who didn't feel the need to remind them how dangerous she was because her motivation to murder was for nothing else but her own consummation. The girl was mentally ill, Peeta could see it in her eyes. He hated her and he feared her- but he also pitied her. She was sick.

But _she_ wasn't what brought them all here and forced them to fight to the death.

His thoughts were silenced immediately when Eight's cold hand touched his own. Maybe she heard, maybe she understood. Not once in his life had the world been more silent. For just a moment he said his own silent goodbye by leaning down and kissing the girl's forehead.

Then he clenched her nose and held her mouth shut. She struggled at first but eventually her faint movements stopped, signaling her death. This was the first person he had ever killed and if he managed to have his way through this, she would be the only.

He walked away without shutting her eyes because he wanted the nation to see the question they still asked even in death.

"Was she dead?" said Cato who looked utterly bemused when he approached. Peeta kept his expression controlled.

"No, but she is now," he said. The rough boom of the cannon followed.

Peeta could have sworn it was louder than usual.

* * *

><p>Cato continued to grit his teeth together long after they had returned to the Cornucopia.<p>

The entire day had gone by and they found _no one_, not a single tribute. He was angry and on edge from hours of unsatisfied anticipation- he needed a release he would not get for at least another day. He considered perhaps going off into the woods on his own. He considered just attacking one of the others too, perhaps killing off the boy from Three whose job was still nowhere near finished. Somehow he managed to settle on watching Clove.

She sat across the fire from him, whipping an already clean knife on her shirt and staring- or rather glaring at the others as they set up tents. The violent glint in her eye told him she was just as pissed off as he was. And those thin lips were made thinner by the way she rolled them between her teeth.

But she had no fucking reason to be angry. He gave her_ his _kill today. He could have just taken that one for himself. He probably would have if he knew how dry the day was going to be. What irritated him even more was the memory of Glimmer's eyes growing wide after Clove had torn her knife through the girl or Marina taking a few steps back. Unlike him, Clove cared little for the fear the others held for her. She didn't appreciate it in the way that he did. For this reason he didn't even think she deserved it.

He decided he didn't desire to watch her any longer.

She didn't look at him as he slid in the vacant spot beside her. Cato hated apathy- especially her particular brand. He wanted to rip her by the braids from where she sat and hold her face over the fire to let it char her skin and fill the night air with her screams. He could see it- her arms as they wiggled madly and her hunched over shoulders as they thrashed from the pain. But for some reason instead of imagining the screams he could only hear that chilling laughter of hers ring through his ears.

For a while they said nothing to each other and the silence coaxed him to watch the others as she did. Fatigue slowed them as they moved mechanically to get their remedial tasks done. They spoke words full of nothingness to one another, they didn't even seem to know or care that they were being watched. Cato hated them; truthfully he hated all people. But he understood the importance of respect and intimidation. Even here in the arena there was a hierarchy and he would be damned if he wasn't at the top of it. This was something he knew his district partner didn't care for. She was entirely antisocial; never speaking casually, only interacting with others when she had to and even then there was still an unshakable darkness about her. While he hated people he knew with resentment that he still needed them. Clove on the other hand would have preferred to live in this world alone.

"Which one first?" he asked to humor her.

She didn't look at him and he didn't look at her, but from the corner of his eye she saw her own narrow. He knew what she was doing- along with having an almost unbelievable indifference in human interaction she was extremely cynical. Though he was sure it wasn't because she was guarding some hidden emotion- he could tell hers didn't run deep. What she seemed to be guarding was nothing more than her physical being, cautious to be rendered vulnerable for attack. There was a lot about her that was entirely primordial. Others couldn't see this the way he could. He didn't know how fearful she was of pain or death. He didn't know if there was anything she was afraid of.

Eventually she curled her lips and said, "I want Glimmer."

He wasn't sure if he liked that idea. He had sketched out a plan to truly make something wonderful of Glimmer. Though Clove, he decided, could probably do better with her knives on a tribute so beautiful.

"Then I get Lover Boy," he snapped back, leaving no room for negotiation.

"Not until we find _her_," Clove hissed.

"And she'll be mine too," he said.

Her lips tightened. Clearly she disagreed. But nothing would sway him. The Girl on Fire was _his_. She deserved excoriating pain only he could give her. The slice of a knife stung but the tearing of skin was nothing like the shattering of bone. Clove wouldn't win this. He sneered.

"What gives _you_ the right to kill her?" she snarled beneath her breath.

Cato lowered his face to hers so she couldn't break from his stare, but she didn't even seem to try. Her black eyes burned hard into his. He hated those eyes. They were too dark, too blank. They displayed nothing.

"Because I _can_," he said. She should know what he meant. That he would take whatever he declared his. There was no diplomacy when it came to what he wanted. She could fight him for the girl but Cato knew she wouldn't. Clove may have wanted her blood but he was sure it wasn't quite in the same way he did.

Her eyes continued to bear into him, so he didn't move. Instead to spite her, he exhaled a breath onto her lips. Her reaction was just as slight; a flare of her nostril, a twitch in her mouth- but it still caused a wicked grin to spread across his face. He wanted her to attack but instead she broke her stare away from him.

"I want the rest of them then," she said. He knew she was talking about their alliance, but they would see just how many he would allow her to get in the end.

He focused on the others again as they began to settle down. Lover Boy and District Four were nearest them, working together to finish setting up a tent. Glimmer was sitting with crossed legs on a barrel, opening a packet of food. The Insect, who didn't get a tent, hovered a good distance away from the rest of them. Marvel had rolled out his sleeping bag and was lounging on it with arms behind his head and eyes closed, his foot draped lazily over his knee.

"I'm going to get creative," Clove said to him, almost spitefully.

As if he couldn't.

Perhaps his specialties in breaking and severing weren't quite as intricate and delicate as her talent, but he could still make his victims into something wonderful. They had both been trained for years to perfect the art of slaughter- and it was indeed an art. There was a way to do it well. And no one in the arena besides them seemed to understand this. Not even the District One's or Four; when they killed it was quick and usually in the simplest way possible. They didn't relish it. Like him they too fought for the glory but for them there was nothing beyond that. His motivations to kill included glory but also preeminence and food for the fire inside him that desired to consume everything in its path. He was sure there was nothing more powerful than _taking_ the lives of others- to strip away the one single thing that marked their very existence and leave them with absolutely _nothing_. How anyone else couldn't be entirely elated by such a feeling seemed unfathomable to him. And the best way- the _proper_ way to do it was to prolong it enough to watch their entire being fade to oblivion.

"They have to be slow. We have to make them_ slow_," he said. With a smile he added, "And we have to make them good."

A soft rumble came from Clove's throat. When she spoke, her voice was too sweet and didn't match the violent crease her freckled nose made as it crinkled or her upper lip which rose as if she were snarling.

"But nothing too _hostile_," she whispered. The fire illuminated her pale skin but created black shadows in the hallows of her face.

Her words drew forth a harsh round of laughter from them both which caused the others to look over wearily. But they could give a shit. All too soon they would get to kill every last one of them.

And then Cato would get to kill her.

He watched her shoulders shake and her back arch as her unnerving cackle bounced through his ears and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to slam his mouth hard into hers as he did nights ago if only to make it end.

But when his face came dangerously close to hers he felt something hard and metal press against his left wrist, made known only to him and concealed from the eyes surrounding them and maybe even Panem itself. When he pulled away he saw she was still smiling.

Never in his life had he come across a creature so hideous and yet so fucking beautiful.

* * *

><p>Hours later, after darkness had fallen and the blue light of dawn replaced their second night in the arena; Clove laid in her tent with open eyes watching the flickering orange glow of their fire as it died. She had slept but as usual it was restless and unsatisfying-especially considering she had not slept in almost three days. As she tried to doze off she could only think of Marvel waiting patiently for her moment of vulnerability and whispering to Glimmer to ready her knife. She thought of Cato's hard white teeth exposed beneath that stupid grin as his fingers tightened around the handle of his sword while he moved with silent feet over to her tent. A past Hunger Games continued to replay in her mind- one where a tribute had waited till his victims were asleep to kill them. But they wouldn't get her. Even in her sleep she was alert and there was never a moment when she didn't have a knife.<p>

It didn't matter ether way. There were multiple times during that night where she had tossed or stirred and woke herself up. At some point in the purple darkness she simply gave up and settled in a limbo between being too roused to relax completely but not awake enough to move from her tent. For a long time she only laid there and thought intently of how she could so easily kill each of them right now. Glimmer had dozed off during her shift and it seemed the rest of them were fast asleep as well. Even the boy from Three who shook like a leaf from direct exposure to the cold morning air was far from consciousness, wrapped in his cocoon of a sleeping bag.

She realized that if she really wanted to, she could win this whole thing.

None of them could touch her, even if they were awake. All it would take was a few direct hits and she could depose of them all in minutes. She didn't need an "alliance." She could kill anyone. She could even kill the haunting boy from Eleven.

Of course she _could _do it the easy way. But she wouldn't waste this opportunity. Besides her nature alone would not allow her to do such a thing and she simply didn't want to. Though never before had she considered the fact that if one of the sniffling weaklings had her skill and ability that would be exactly what they would do – win as quickly as they could with as little gore as possible. For the first time since entering the arena she thought of Lyme, more specifically her voice as it said:

_The second you let anger get the best of you, it could be the end of everything._

She smiled to herself.

_Oh Lyme, how right you are. _

* * *

><p>Morning came- Clove opened her eyes at the sound of Lover Boy's voice, surprised that she had managed to doze off sometime after dawn, and as usual no one seemed to want to make any moves right away. So Clove grudgingly left them behind at the Cornucopia, accompanied by Cato again whose motivation for following her into the woods this time wasn't to simply bother her with his presence. Rather he seemed to be just as eager to find a tribute as she was.<p>

They exchanged few words as they navigated through the woods. But they moved as a unit, scanning the canopy, darting through the trees at times then slowing their pace, two pairs of eyes constantly alert. There were moments when Cato would roughly wave his hand at her to halt and they would both stay still, listening.

At some point Clove hurled her knife at whatever it was she heard scurrying in a large brush beside her, only to find she had wounded a rabbit.

Cato's face turned the color of a beat as she lifted the animal by its scruff and held it out to show him.

"_God fucking dammit_," he bellowed.

Clove could visibly see the rage as it worked quick to consume him. The muscles in his arms pulsed beneath the rolled sleeves of his jacket. He whipped around and drove his fist unbelievably hard into the nearest tree trunk which resulted in a crack so loud Clove was sure he had broken his hand. But he continued to punch until his knuckles were purple and streaming blood. When this didn't work he began to kick at the trunk until the entire tree was leaning while he viciously snarled: "_Where are they? Where the fuck are they_?"

Clove should have been scared but as she stood silently observing him she only felt cautious. In this moment, if she didn't stay invisible, Cato could very well kill her. She knew this was all caused by his burning desire for blood because he hadn't killed since the first day- which she understood because she felt the same. In a way she was envious that he was able to release himself in this way. She had no release.

His fury was entirely mesmerizing. Veins rose in the corners of his eyes and the bones of his jaw nearly pierced through his cheeks. The power of his body was that of a machine; unforgiving, impenetrable. His arms must have been made of stone the way they flew so recklessly into the bark. And his legs too were inconceivable in the strength they possessed- which each kick leaves drifted around him from the branches high above as they rattled from his blows. She understood now how he could have broken a man's spine with his hands alone. Watching him, it was hard to believe he was only human.

But as he gave the tree one final blow with his foot and stomped off deeper into the forest, slashing at low hanging branches with his sword as he did, his battered knuckles reminded her that he wasn't immortal. She didn't dare follow after him right away. Instead she turned to the wounded rabbit. The creature made small strange noises as it struggled. The wound didn't seem fatal enough to kill it. It was only slowed down but perhaps it could still live-

If she were to walk away.

There was a rock in the earth of just perfect size. She lifted it from the ground and tenderly brushed coats of dirt from its moist bottom as she approached the creature.

Gingerly she kneeled down beside it. Then she smashed the stone down hard into its body. She was rewarded with a satisfying crunch of its bones and a faint slosh of its softness. But it didn't bleed. It was only deflated and dead. Its eyes bulged much like the girl from Sevens.

It was only a stupid, thoughtless animal. But it was something.

It wasn't hard to track down Cato; he was still angry and therefore making sounds that could have been likened to a bear whose footsteps were that of a herd of cattle. She silently followed him for some time but eventually her annoyance won over caution.

"If you don't shut up we won't find _shit_," she hissed.

As he turned, baring his teeth at her, she instantly she whipped out a knife for each hand. The sword he held gleamed viciously in the daylight as he raised it slightly into the air. But then he tilted his head and suddenly looked as he did the night before they came into the arena, with some sort of dazed expression taking over his features. He crept toward her with a wisp of a smile and his eyes were as blank and absent as they had ever been.

"What are you going to do? _Kill me_?" he asked as she raised the weapons. "Go on then. Toss your little knives-" he spread his arms and beamed "-I'm all open."

But as he continued to draw closer to her, his eyebrows lowered and his nose creased and his face contorted in some sort of sickening, feral grin that spiked an equal beastly anger inside her.

"_Do it,_" he snarled. "Do it and watch what fucking happens. I'll fucking break them in half. And then I'll break you."

This threat was different from the others. It was different from the night when he held her wrists tight and it was different from when he had wrapped his hands around her ribs. Those times had been provoked out of her own spite or anger. But this was entirely him.

And it excited her.

She threw her head back and laughed before hurling one of her knives at his right thigh. However, she miscalculated his reaction entirely. Because he had been anticipating it he managed to move out of its way slightly- it still lodged itself in his flesh but it was in a spot nowhere near as fatal as she had intended. Then he charged at her like a train and was crashing against her before she even had time to launch a second knife at him.

With his sword against her neck he pinned her to a tree but she was fast enough to pull out another knife and hold it to his abdomen in a position that the slightest movement would be all it took to penetrate into his stomach. The blade of his sword pressed into her skin and he moved it just slightly enough to cut her. But the cut was fairly deep and painfully stung as he did. She cringed and coughed from the pressure against her throat but was sure to dig her knife into him as well, enough that he called her a bitch and pressed the knee of his stronger leg hard against her thigh.

For them time held still and nether moved. Once again she was captivated by the thin skin beneath his eyes. She wanted so desperately to run her finger across it, to feel its softness. She wanted to made tiny delicate slices in it, create patterns across the fragile blue veins that would be just as beautiful in their intricacy. He wouldn't die with a knife to the gut. That wasn't how he was meant to go.

One of his knuckles caught her attention now that she was able to see its damage in detail. It held the handle of the sword- the other was behind her head pulling it into the blade. Blood still flowed red from the gashes from which tiny splinters rose as if they were trees themselves. The sharp curves of each knuckle were already purple and swollen to unnaturally large sizes. And she could see that his white hand quivered.

His other hand suddenly let go of her hair and unexpectedly placed its back to the side of her face, tenderly dragging it across her cheek. She felt the warm moisture of his blood as it smeared across her skin. His eyes were so intensely focused on her she found it hard to look into them.

Her free hand brushed across the fabric covering his abdomen and trailed across his belt, down to his thigh were she pulled out the knife. His body twitched in reaction but he didn't break away his eyes. Instead he pressed his body further into her. His breaths increased as did the rise and fall of his shoulders. She lost herself in them.

And then they heard noises that were undoubtedly human.

In an instant Cato was off her. Whatever was approaching them was more than singular; in fact it may have been more than double. The voices of the oncoming tributes were hushed instantly and were followed by a rustle of quick footsteps which meant that they heard them too.

But they were ready – Clove with her knives out, Cato with his sword raised. They stood with their backs nearly touching, prepared to attack at the sound of a pin drop.

Marvel appeared from the trees, spear in hand. Realization spread across his features, but Clove didn't miss how hesitant he was to drop the spear. Glimmer appeared behind her, on the side facing Cato and she only knew this because she heard the girl snort, "What happened to you two?"

When Clove faced her she saw Glimmer looking aghast at Cato's now profusely bleeding leg wound as well as his gnarled hands. Her eyes then flicked to Clove but not to her face. Rather she was looking at her neck.

Clove touched her throat and was surprised at how badly it hurt and how much blood was streaming from the open wound. Perhaps it was shock or adrenaline or both but she didn't feel a thing until now. Cato had cut her pretty good. Though as she exchanged a glance with her district partner who partially smirked at her, only one word ran again through her mind:

_We._

* * *

><p>The rest of the morning turned out to be as fruitless as the past day.<p>

Because of it, now the entire alliance seemed to be entirely frustrated. Each of them found their own special way to get under Clove's skin; she wasn't sure if she could keep herself from ripping Glimmer's hair out if she absently fussed with it one more time or if she could keep herself from attacking Lover Boy if she caught his eyes again. Though, judging by the occasional dirty glance from Marvel or the tightening of Marina's lips each time Clove stopped to tie her boot or play with her knives, the feeling must have been mutual. Their irritation with the situation began to manifest into each other.

But it all came to head during sometime when the sun was highest in the sky, while they took a break beneath a heavy canopy of trees.

It began as just a muttered conversation between Lover Boy and Marina. The sea slug was showing him the token she had brought from her District- just some ancient coin made from a material that shined bronze in the light. Glimmer who apparently couldn't handle a great deal of sweat and bugs without succumbing to a particularly foul mood, snorted at the object, to which Marina retorted, "So why don't you tell us what happened to your token, or does everyone already know?"

Clove had stopped paying attention to their meaningless chatter, allowing the sounds to blend together like the static of a broken television as she rearranged the knives inside her jacket (she had smirked at her own sarcasm as she placed her particular favorite behind the breast pocket, _right over her heart_.) But this sparked her interest. She found herself shooting a glance to where Cato sat beside her, only to find that he was doing the same.

Glimmer only narrowed her eyes in Marina's direction, her natural eyelashes still fluffy enough to nearly conceal her green orbs as she did. However before she could make whatever petty remark she held up her sleeve, Marvel's deep chuckle came from somewhere beyond the trees across from her. He stood bare chested a distance away, the porcelain white of his muscles giving him the appearance of a moving statue as he pulled a fresh shirt from his pack.

"How facetious it is that someone who had trained for eleven years still felt the need to bring poison into the arena," he mused, half to himself.

This didn't surprise Clove- if anything it amused her. So Glimmer tried to sneak in a bit of poison? Of course she would. It was such a typical Glimmer move to make. Clove didn't try to hide her entertainment as she looked to the beautiful but very _stupid _girl, who now only kept her eyes on her district partner. For a moment her lips pursed, but in the same way a lid extinguishes a flame, she was quick to release the annoyance she held in her mouth and in its place her lips slowly curled at their edges in a wicked, impish smile Clove had seen her display a million times but not of this intensity. Suddenly those green orbs were nearly glowing.

Marvel on the other hand, seemed to nether notice or care what her reaction may be. Clove found it interesting that he didn't wait till he was fully clothed again to antagonize her; nudity was by her terms the ultimate state of vulnerability. But he was clearly not threatened by Glimmer in the least, not even enough that he felt the need to look at her while he degraded her. Glimmer had certainly proven that she wasn't one to jump to attack when provoked, at least not physically- though there was something else about Marvel's demeanor toward her as well. The boy was indeed one of the most pretentious people Clove had ever met, therefore holding a rather low deal of respect for the rest of them. But strangely enough he seemed to hold the lowest respect toward his own district partner. Clove could hear it in the way he spoke to her.

Glimmer was now leaning, almost leering toward him, with her lovely face in her palms.

"Tell me, Marvel," she said. "Is that _your_ token I see there? On your arm?"

Clove could barely see what she was talking about at first, it was so slight. But there, beneath the bulge of Marvel's pale bicep, was a very plain but intricately woven band. It was colorless, boring and very humble - a token completely unexpected from a tribute who hailed from the district of luxury. She could barely see his expression but from what she could make of it he seemed to display sudden interest in what Glimmer was saying. For a moment he paused, his bare back facing them completely still, before pulling a clean shirt over his body.

"A very good observation of you," he said sarcastically as he turned to face her.

"You know, I overheard Gloss while we were on the train saying that it was the_ weirdest_ token he had ever seen one of his tributes insist on bringing," she purred, the same smile still playing on her lips. Then she stood, almost aimlessly as if she were going to go take a stroll through the woods. Or perhaps it could have been categorized as such if she didn't pick up her bow and arrows as well, strumming the line of the bow.

Marvel picked up on this because he didn't take his seat. Rather, he leaned against the trunk of a tree near his own weapons of choice with crossed arms and a smile on his face that seemed contradictory to the anger in his eyes.

"Well, mine didn't shame him and our entire district with its stupidity," he sneered. "Did it, Glimmer?"

Anger momentarily broke through Glimmer's carefully maintained mask, but it was quickly stifled. Her pace had become less of a prance and more of a stalk. Then she tilted her head to the side and blinked with wide eyes.

"I guess not," she said tenderly. "But still how interesting that of all things_ that _is what you choose to bring. It just… makes me wonder." As she trailed off, Clove thought she almost heard the girl's breathe hitch from excitement. Glimmer looked to the canopy of trees and for a moment Clove couldn't understand why, but she was quickly reminded of something she so often forgot: that the world was watching. Glimmer's grin was wild.

"Did _she _make it for you?"

Marvel maintained an empty expression but it seemed forced, as if he held something massive behind it. His eyes narrowed. Clove could see the muscles of his arms tense and his fingers burrow deeper into his skin.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he said.

"Oh _Marvel_ you dog! Don't play dumb, that's awfully rude of you. You might break her little heart! She can probably hear us right now… or maybe not. Do the smelly manufactory scum actually own televisions?"

Marvel said nothing, only kept a strange smile on his face as he glared at Glimmer with enough intensity that the girl could have been knocked over. He began to creep, very slowly toward her. In response she cautiously began to move in the opposite direction.

"Silly, Marvel," she continued. "Did you really think you could keep her a secret? Didn't you know that your little pet works for Amethysts father? We've_ seen_ you two together... but my, you just could never take your eyes off her long enough to notice-" Glimmer then looked to the trees again and seemed to speak directly to a different audience. "Who would have guessed: the _Golden Boy of District One_, the _Pride of the Academy_ was infatuated with nothing more than just a poor, flee-bitten _factory girl_."

Marvel's laughter that followed was sudden, harsh, and very unlike any that Clove had heard from him before. There was another word she could have used to describe it, but that word didn't come to mind until the boy's laughter stopped and the face he wore in its replacement was wide eyed and grinning.

Manic.

"Oh _Glimmer_, what dirty little games you play," he said very loudly. "Are you forgetting that we are here to kill each other, my dear?"

There was enough fire in his eyes to melt the cool blue of his orbs when he said, "Don't think for a second that I won't."

The threat hung in the air.

Clove and Cato exchanged a look, understanding the question they both asked without words. _But wasn't she there's to kill? _Cato smiled.

Glimmer's eyes widened in fear but her pride didn't seem to allow her to stop.

"Don't be cross with me because you aren't being a very good boyfriend," she sneered. "Why don't you wave hello so she can see you. What was her name again? Ah, yes-" And then she turned her beautiful face to the sky and waved with enthusiasm. "Hi Citrine!"

Marvel suddenly snatched his spear from where it leaned against the tree. As he did, Glimmer began to wildly shout at him, losing her composure entirely and seemingly trying to get out the words before he came too near: "Oh! But I forgot, didn't I? She can't see us right now. As a matter of fact she'll _never _be able to see us. Because she can't see anything, can she? She can't even see _you_!"

As the word _You_ still ripped through the air, Marvel was already upon her. But Glimmer was fast to pull out her bow. Suddenly they stood in a stalemate. Marvel with his spear out and ready to impale, and Glimmer with her bow pulled back ready to fire directly through his heart. Normally she wasn't much of a threat with her arrows but with them standing at such a near range from each other, not even she could miss and certainly he wouldn't. Should ether one of them make a move, they could both end up dead.

In the heat of the moment Clove hadn't even taken the time to realize that the audience Glimmer was trying to humiliate Marvel before wasn't them, and it wasn't the majority of Panem- it was District One. Clove was vaguely reminded of when she had caught Cato with her knives on the first day and she understood just how different they were from the pair from One who used secrets over domineering strength. It was silly in Clove's opinion.

And then she realized something else too, what Glimmer had said about the girl who Marvel apparently loved. If there was one thing Clove could understand about them that Cato probably couldn't, it was social classes. In District Two, particularly in her sector, it was frowned upon for richer children to associate with the working class. But from judging by Marvel's reaction, perhaps such relations were more than just frowned upon. And what had Glimmer said? The girl couldn't see? Clove pondered this statement for a moment before she understood.

So the ostentatious, pompous, hallow Marvel was in love with nothing more than a blind provincial? The thought brought a smirk to Clove's face.

Marvel and Glimmer both glared deep into each other's eyes, nether backing down. Marvel then sneered.

"You know," he said quietly. "There's a reason why they called me the Pride of the Academy. I was good at what I did. As a matter of fact I may have been the_ best_ throughout the years. That's why I'm here now. But you, well, it was a wonder how you continued to advance when you were clearly so _inept_… Do you remember what they used to call you, Glimmer?"

Glimmer's face instantly flared in anger, she wasn't as good at concealing hers as Marvel. Marvel's smile widened. "Yes, of course you do. The Academy_ Slut._"

Glimmer screamed. Marvel's arm muscles twitched as he pulled back his spear. Clove readied herself for the blood, but the blood never came.

Because very suddenly a ball of fire barreled through the trees, aimed directly at Marvel and Glimmer. They both dropped to the ground, avoiding it just barely by the blonde hairs on their heads. Lover Boy sprung out of its way as well as it crashed into the tree he had been leaning against.

Clove snapped around just in time to watch the surrounding forest burst into flames.

* * *

><p><strong>AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH BA-BA-BAM! <strong>

**Now THAT was fun to write. Clatoness all over the place and of course some pissy District Ones (can I just say I am so happy everyone's loving Marvel? Because quite frankly I love Marvel too. He really came to life for me. I don't know how or why but he did! And yes that means potential fanfiction in the future- not an entire chapter by chapter story though. That would be silly considering I'm already writing from the stand point of the careers.) ANYWAY there it is folks. I hope this chapter made up for the fact that it took me forever to get it out. Please tell me what you guys thought! **


	12. Games

**Hey guys! I am so sorry this took so long, as usual. But I actually don't have much of an excuse this time. It just so happens that I am losing motivation to work on this story : (. I'm not sure why- maybe because I've been with this for two months now. I have the whole story planned out but its begun to feel like a chore to sit down and write it. So most likely I'll be taking a break from this for a while. This doesn't mean I'm abandoning ship of course. I've developed these guys way too much for that. And not to mention I have the whole story. Also, I'm not revoking the message I put up last week (or was it the week before that). Any illustrations or anything you want to send me will be more than appreciated. **

**Anyway I hope yall like this. Because I semi-hate it haha. Give me feedback please!**

* * *

><p><strong>12.<strong>

The fire that had seemingly come from nowhere was suddenly everywhere, burning everything. The tree that Marvel had been standing below moments before was already crumbling to ash as the orange flames licked its lively greenish bark to a dead charcoal black. Their little clearing had become a red inferno in a matter of seconds.

Clove wasted no time.

She hardly took a moment to survey the others before dashing off into the only part of the forest that wasn't ablaze. She flew on fast legs, feet hardly touching the ground as she panted, trying to get as far away from the heat that touched her back as it chased her. Smoke was already beginning to clot her lungs and breathing became a struggle. Her sinuses were charred in moments and a fierce headache came on as she slowed her pace near a thicket of trees- for one because she couldn't end the coughs that began to rack her body as her throat tried to rid itself of the suffocating smoke and also because there was a divide in the path she was following. She had two options to take; but she had no time to make any sort of rational decision. Automatically she took the left.

Her sprint wasn't nearly as fast as it had been initially but it wouldn't have made a difference anyway; because within the same minute of making her turn, she heard the crackling, rushing screech of something large and fast coming right at her. She dove to the ground not a second to soon and as she did she heard the fireball whiz past her head, just missing a direct shot and setting the trees to her right on fire when it crashed into them.

She was running again before she had even stood up completely. But before she could take more than four steps there was another fireball coming at her. This time she wasn't so lucky. She was sluggish as she ducked and it managed to skim her back.

She screamed. The pain was immediate and scorching. The material of her jacket had burst into flames. She tore the burning thing off before it could reach any other part of her. But it was too late- her back had already been burnt severely. With each stinging wave of pain she only wanted to cry out again but the thought of the cattle ranchers from Ten or the mother from Seven was enough for her to shake that idea- she wouldn't give them that. Even still the unbearable sizzling of her skin was enough to make her even dizzier and more disoriented than she was before. She knew she had to get out of there. But when she hauled herself up to keep going she only stumbled back down to avoid another ball of fire.

If she couldn't walk, then would crawl. This was the Game Makers doing. Those _bastards_. If only they were here with her right now- then Panem would get a real good show. She thought of them, sitting in their chairs back at the Capitol so far away from where she was now, chatting idly among each other. She hated them. And she didn't understand their motives- why would they want to kill _her_? Wasn't she their entertainment? Wasn't she what made their show? She wondered if they wanted to see her dead because of her hostility. That would make sense. Dogs watching two of their own fight would only jump in and join- humans weren't much different. She was sure while she slayed the girl from Eight the entire Capitol was digging their nails into their fine cushioned couches, gritting their teeth and widening their eyes; becoming animals for just a moment as they soaked up the girls blood in any way they could.

And then it dawned upon her; the Game Makers weren't trying to finish her. They were trying to satisfy that craving their people had for blood. They were _leading _her somewhere. So these fireballs meant she wasn't going the right way.

With whatever energy she had left Clove hauled herself up, taking less than a second to analyze her surroundings. Almost everything around her was engulfed in flames- she was sure it _was_ everything until she turned to her right and saw the tiniest patch of green amongst all the black and red, the thicket that created the fork left untouched. She would have to navigate through there. She had no other choice.

So she did. The branches dug painfully into her back which was beginning to seem more and more serious with each step she took. But she was only motivated by what lay ahead. _Lead away, Game Makers, lead away._ The prospect of another kill brought about a second wind in her in a way that not even survival itself could. A shark wiggled through the dark cervices of her mind for just a moment before dissipating completely.

She had all but forgotten about the others by the time she fell through the final bush that lead to a different clearing, this one assaulted by heavy billows of smoke rather than actual flames. She could hardly hear anything but her own coughs and a painful ringing through her ears, but she did detect muffled voices before one in particular broke through.

"_Clove!_"

She recognized the deep bellow to belong to Cato. At first she decided to ignore him out of sheer spitefulness before he shouted again, this time louder and closer than before. "Clove!"

"I'm here!" she called back.

She heard the rattle of his sword and the knives at his belt long before his monstrous black shadow broke through the wall of gray that surrounded her.

Cato's large hand waved away the blue smoke in front of him and he stood before her, his colorless eyes nearly piercing through the haze between them. For a moment they stood before each other saying nothing but there was no silence exchange. Cato only held her in his stare, his lips pressed firmly together. Then he whipped around, snarling at the rest of them.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" he shouted, kicking at the ground.

Four other bodies convened from the haze that was beginning to rapidly diminish and Clove knew they all survived. And though they were all disheveled none of them were in as bad a shape as she was. Marina's hair seemed to have been singed and it stood out in weird angels, Lover Boy was still coughing and Clove could see his hands had been burnt; Marvel had a small limp to his walk while Glimmer stood tall and erect, the most untouched of them all. Of course Glimmer was completely fine. Clove could see it so clearly: the blonde leaping her way through the forest like some sort of nymph, avoiding the fire as if it were no danger at all but just a friend who was trying to catch up to her. Clove's lip twitched.

The scoffs and barks from the others at Cato's statement distracted her from hating Glimmer for just a moment. She realized that no one else had come to the conclusion she had about the Game Maker's motives. Clove was about to snap at them that they were all idiots until they heard the distant sound of splashing.

In the spring, bubbling just a distance away from them, Clove saw her. She wadded through the water, _desperate _to escape them. That classic brown braid that trailed down her filthy neck was black from the water. But there would be no escaping. Clove's breath hitched. She had been anticipating this moment for a long time, ever since the night of the training scores. She craved the girl's blood in a way that was only made more intense because she couldn't have it. For just a moment during the interviews she had only been an arm's length away and even still she was untouchable. But now it was here- finally, _finally_ it was here. Her heart fluttered in unbearable excitement. Oh how wrong Cato was if he thought _he _would get to kill her. She had always been Clove's.

No one would come in the way between her and this tribute.

As if to confirm it wasn't all just another fantasy she heard Marvel hiss but one word:

"_Twelve_."

_Yes,_ Clove thought, her heart skipping a beat. The pain in her back was almost invisible now. She almost wanted to twirl and blow kisses to show her deepest gratitude to the Game Makers for their gift. _The fire was so very worth it._

When they took off running Clove saw her look back at them and even from the distance she saw the instinctual glint in the girl's stone orbs. Dear, sweet Katniss.

_Finally you little bitch, I've got you._

Every single cut Clove had imagined her knife leaving on the girl's skin would soon become reality. And her blood-curdling screams would finally pierce Clove's eardrums and ring throughout the entire country as they watched her struggle. This death would be _beautiful_.

Clove sprinted faster.

Twelve had a head start but she was slow- even slower than they were given their states. Cato had quickened into a full dash ahead of the little formation they had created- with Glimmer and Marvel at their opposing sides and Marina making up the rear. But Clove wanted no part of it. She only wanted the girl. Defiantly she broke away from them, nearly flying through the air past Cato.

She was so sure she had her- Twelve slowed down near a tree just within throwing range. Clove already had a hand on her knife, planning to get her in the left leg; somewhere that wasn't fatal- just to slow her down enough that Clove could get her hands on her. But before she could launch it, the girl hoped into the branches and began to scamper up the tree as if she were a nothing more than a rodent. Clove was first to reach the base of the tree, followed quickly by the others.

How pathetic she looked as she stared down at them with wide eyes. Did she really think she would be able to escape them this way? If only she had cornered herself even more. _Nowhere to run, Katniss_. A smile crawled to Clove's lips.

With her body positioned to continue her climb at any given moment, Clove watched Twelve's shoulders rise as she took in a deep breath. Then it was _she_ who broke the silence.

"How's everything with you?" Twelve called down merrily, which Clove hadn't been expecting. She was sure the girl would have some sort of panicked reaction when they found her; one similar to when her little sister had been called during her district's reaping. The smile Clove wore was gone and in its place her lips were tight.

"Well enough," said Cato in response. He was better at humoring the girl. "Yourself?"

"It's a bit warm for my taste," Twelve said thoughtfully. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

Clove's fingers tightened around her knives. She couldn't bare the girl's insolence any longer. She would cut that impudent mouth of hers until it was an unrecognizable bloody mass on her face.

_See how brave you are when you come down from that tree._

"I think I will," said Cato. Clove looked at him now. The sneer he wore as he stared up at Twelve was closer to a snarl and his eyes burned in a way Clove had never seen them do before. But she didn't want him to get her. Clove wanted her.

"Here, take this, Cato," Glimmer said, holding out her bow and arrows.

"No," Cato growled at her, breaking his glare away from Twelve only for a moment to forcefully push the bow away from him. His smile grew wide when he said, "I'll do better with my sword."

Then, Cato easily hoisted his large body onto the nearest branch with a small grunt. Twelve watched him for just a moment before she proceeded to scramble her way up the tree again. Seeing her climb as she did, Clove realized just how slight the girl was. It was as if she was made up of nothing at all, as light as a feather. Twelve was smaller than Clove even was- though this was probably from years of being underfed in that poverty stricken little hobble she hailed from. Cato on the other hand _wasn't_ small, not in the least. As he climbed from branch to branch like a large, burly monster crawling from the deep, she knew there was no way he would get her.

Clove wanted her to fall. She was high enough that she would be _very _injured and in a lot of pain. It would be perfect; Cato would be high in the branches and Clove would have _just _enough time to do what she wanted with the girl. And she knew none of the other's would interfere.

But instead it was Cato who fell. He managed to make it surprisingly high before the sharp, cracking _snap_ ripped through the air and he was falling through the branches, hitting the ground hard when he finally did.

"That fucking _bitch_," Cato snarled like a dog, hoping up from the ground almost as fast as he had hit it. He began to pace like one as well, only staring up into the braches as he rattled off a million different swears, some of which Clove had never heard before. Of course he was angry. The Girl on Fire had managed to make him look like a fool.

But Cato was stupid. Clove understood her abilities better than he understood his own. She was trying to focus her thoughts enough to think of a way to get the girl down but Cato's voice interrupted when he barked Glimmer's name.

"Get up there," he said, pointing to the trees.

Glimmer strode past him with a set determination on her face that not even Clove could question. Even she was undeniably angered. She strung the bow and arrow across her back and leapt into the branches, scaling the tree with a bit more grace than Cato did. She wasn't very high when they began to crack beneath her feet, but rather than fall she hopped to the ground. With an irritated shriek she then whipped out her bow, aiming an arrow directly at Twelve. Of course when she let go, she missed her target completely.

Twelve reached out and snatched the arrow from where it had lodged itself into a nearby tree and then waved it above their heads.

At this gesture alone, anger assaulted Clove as if it were a real tangible being, coming at her from every angle of the forest and filling her body till she could hardly stand. It was almost enough to make her dizzy. Her vision seemed to blacken around the edges as it so often did and she only saw Katniss now as her distant figure continue to make its way higher and higher in the branches- very out of her reach. Why was she _always_ just out of reach? Clove wanted to scream.

So she paced and tried to control her breathing. She was almost dizzy with fury. Her thoughts couldn't comprise themselves properly any longer; they only mirrored what Cato had said;

_That little fucking bitch. That smelly, vile, dirty little fucking bitch._

"She's making us look like idiots," Marvel hissed. The others had gathered in a group but Clove wasn't sure if she could handle standing anywhere close to another living being at this moment without killing it.

"She's like a rat the way she can scamper up those trees," Glimmer said.

"Well what are we going to do?" snapped Marina. "It's getting dark, we don't have much time."

"We're going to fucking kill the bitch," Cato snarled, glowering at the rest of them. Then he turned to Clove, his face so red it could have began to blister with anger. "Why don't you make yourself useful for once?"

Clove stopped moving entirely. _What did he just say?_

"Throw your fucking knives," he snarled.

His stupidity was incredible. Clove couldn't even restrain herself from moving toward him. Her jaw was so tight and yet it cranked itself open so she could say, "They don't go that high you dumbass."

Cato's upper lip twitched. But before he could say a word Lover Boy said harshly, "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

Very quickly all the anger that had welled itself up into a concentrated ball in Clove's chest found its newest, closest target. She homed in on Lover Boy. Well they had found the girl didn't they?

"Is that right?" Cato said, sounding as though perhaps he felt the same way as she did. He paced around Lover Boy like a jungle cat. "And what about you, Lover Boy? We got your little girlfriend cornered up in that tree. So what do we do with you?"

Clove stepped forward involuntarily.

"_Kill him_."

She didn't realize she had spoken the words out loud until after each of them had turned their heads to her. His blood would do if they couldn't get the girl right away. The thought alone was enough of a tease. Now she needed it. "Kill him," she repeated. "We don't need him anymore."

In that moment Lover Boy meet her eyes but he showed no fear. Rather his calm blue orbs displayed something that was so slight it not only didn't match the expression on his face but it was completely invisible to the others and perhaps to Panem as well. But she saw it and never again would she be able to unsee it.

It was defiance.

"Why shouldn't I?" Cato said to Lover Boy, but Clove couldn't see him. She only saw Lover Boy and his eyes.

"Because he earned his right among us," said Marina, taking a small step, putting herself beside Lover Boy. She raised her chin to Cato. Of all the girls in their alliance Marina was the tallest and the broadest. But she was still nothing when compared to Cato. With a sneer he lowered his head so his face was close to hers.

"Really? Because I don't even think you did," he said. "So what's keeping me from killing the both of you?"

"Nothing," Clove said, engrossed in the interaction. Her hands clenched around her knvies as she stomped forward now.

"_Morons_!" Marvel suddenly snapped from where he stood, his face twisted in disgust. He then spoke in a hushed voice. "We are being made to look ridiculous right now. Am I the only one who can see that she is continuing to make us look stupid?"

He then pointed his spear at Cato. "Deal with _Lover Boy_ once we actually do get the girl. Clearly she's a slippery little beast and perhaps not as dumb as you would assume, given her district-" he stopped to smirk at Lover Boy before continuing on. He tilted his pointed chin to look up into the trees when he said, "Who knows if she'll find a way to escape us again."

At his words Cato smacked the spear away hard and was sure to stop near Marvel as he moved past him to snarl, "_Unlikely._"

* * *

><p>In the setting twilight, Cato could see she was struggling.<p>

She was high up in that tree but he could still see it. Between the black leaves she had her back to him but he could see her white hands fluttering like moths and they worked to tend to some part of her. Hands- _her _hands. He would break every fucking finger on those hands the second her filthy feet touched the ground. The bitch. She didn't know pain. He would teach her what it meant to feel pain.

But when? _Fucking when_? How long would she sit up there for? He couldn't stand waiting. Cato always got what he wanted _when_ he wanted it. And he wanted this girl. Again his memory replayed her face as she anxiously- hopefully gazed down at him from the branches just after he fell.

His hands balled into fists. No, he wouldn't think of that. He wouldn't think of how _she _managed to one up him. He wouldn't think of the entire audience that got to watch him as he fell. So he continued to think of all the ways he would shatter her bones, one by one. Her screams filled his ears and he replayed them again and again until that was all he could hear.

But they weren't real. His teeth slammed hard into each other. _They weren't fucking real._ She was still very alive at this very moment and completely out of his reach. He had no patience. Adrenaline coursed through his veins.

Then someone was nudging his shoulder. He automatically pulled out the sword before he even turned his head to see Glimmer, playfully raising the blonde eyebrows on her pale face, colored orange from the flames of their fire.

"Cato, always so serious," she said with a wicked smile playing on her perfectly shaped lips. Cato turned away from her. He was in no mood. And if Glimmer was smart she would stay very far away from him. The others knew to. Particularly Lover Boy.

But she didn't. Instead she continued to run that fucking mouth of hers.

"Are you going to stare up there all night?" she asked. He gave her but one warning by turning to look at her, not because he was feeling generous but because he felt no need to waste his energy on her. But that sickening smile was enough to send pulses of irritation through his blood, only increasing his anger.

He turned his focus back to trees but he could see Glimmer's frown in his peripheral vision. He smirked at this. She couldn't stand to be ignored. Eventually she leaned into his ear- her breath against it enough to make him cringe, and she hissed, "What's wrong, _Lover Boy_? Can't take your eyes away from your little bitch caught up in the branches?"

How good she was at picking the wrong time.

When Cato turned to her, she was smiling. The arrogant little slut thought she could run him like she did the others. This was a joke. He would have to remind her exactly who it was that had control over her, over their alliance, over this whole fucking playing field. Just as he would have to remind Panem, in case the events from earlier that day had made them forget as well.

He stood up and only jerked his head to the woods, saying nothing. It was no surprise that she understood was this meant. She rose to her feet, puffing her chest out as she did and tilting her chin down to look at him as she followed. They said nothing to the others. Cato didn't have to respond to them. Though he felt one pair of eyes in particular that he was sure for a moment he could feel burning straight through him- one very dark pair of eyes. Had he not been so full of rage at the time perhaps he would have cracked a smile at what he was so sure was a rare display of jealousy. But Clove wasn't his focus at that moment.

Instead it was Glimmer- gorgeous, sexy Glimmer who thought he was about to give her exactly what she wanted. How ignorant she was. When they were deep enough into the woods that their flame from camp was only a fleck of light, she opened her mouth to speak but he didn't want to hear another God damned word from her. She had barely uttered a sound before he took her slim waist in his hands and pulled her body into his, crashing his lips hard enough into hers that she jolted from the pain. He pressed harder into her.

She didn't even try to hide that she had done this before. They were standing but she still moved her hips against his, arched her back against him. He had been with many girls like her before back in District Two. The ones that used to watch him in the Academy, yearn for him even when he had them of their backs in training. They were all the same to him- the only difference Glimmer had from them was that she was a bit softer, a lot less aggressive, and had a face beautiful enough to match the perfect body that now wiggled away from his grasp. They just didn't make girls like this in District Two. There was another difference between her and them though; the girls back home understood their place. Glimmer didn't. And unfortunately for her, she was playing in_ his_ Hunger Games.

Her fingers entwined in his hair but they didn't quite pull. She sucked on his lower lip and ran her tongue across it but she didn't bite. She was just too soft- to gentle. Too breakable. She was teasing him in a way she could have never guessed or understood. He was reminded of the night of the interviews when there was a slimmer, less curvy body pinned against his and a pair of lips that were thinner and not as full but surprisingly strong in the way they met his with an equally powerful force.

His teeth gnashed into hers when she tried to pull away. His hands tugged hard at her soft locks of hair. He could sense her hesitance. But then her warm fingers flew up beneath his shirt and then very quickly down, down to his belt buckle. She fumbled with it before ripping it from its loops. For a moment he considered forgetting his purpose for bringing her out here and allowing her hands to continue where they were heading. But no, he wouldn't let her get such satisfaction.

His hands were then all over her. Against her ass, the small of her back, her breasts, her stomach. Her breath grew heavy, she bucked against him. She was grabbing at his neck and she moved her lips to the side of his face. But he didn't make a move until she sighed his name, just once.

He sneered.

She was expecting something different when he turned her around and through her onto the ground. Shamelessly she arched her back to him. She didn't put up much of a fight when he held her arms at her back. But when he dug his knee hard into her spine the profile of her face as she turned back to look at him showed that she was terrified. He couldn't help but devour it.

She gasped and thrashed as he pulled her head up by her hair. Then when he held the sword to her neck, she began screaming for help. Cato only laughed.

"Whose going to come for you?" he said in her ear, loud enough for Panem to hear. "Marvel?"

Glimmer continued to struggle though. In vain she bucked as if that could throw him off. He pulled her head back further, nearly chocking her as he did. She was still now, the only noises she uttered were silent, muffled whimpers. Too muffled. Teasingly, Cato ran the sword back and forth a few times on her neck until her sobs were as loud as he desired them to be. He held her face to the moonlight for just a moment more- just incase Panem didn't get a good view.

Then, shoving her head into the ground, he said, "Remember who runs this fucking show."

The message wasn't just for Glimmer. It was meant for Panem, but more than anything it was meant for that little Bitch on Fire who would be reminded the moment she got too hungry, or too thirsty _who_ ran this show. Her time was limited.

_Soon_, he told himself.

He moved away from Glimmer and left her where she lay, with her face in the dirt and shoulders shaking. Clove better appreciate the fact that he kept her alive.

* * *

><p>The pain of the burns on Clove's back had finally begun to catch up with her just as the moon had risen. She cursed herself for her weakness- now was <em>not<em> the time to be focusing on anything but Katniss. And yet it was bad, terribly bad at that. To test it out she nonchalantly stood up and twisted her body from side to side, acting as if she were cracking her back. But the pain that followed was enough to make her wince.

If only she had just taken the right! Then she would be perfectly fine at this moment. But of course should Twelve actually come down, Clove was sure she would feel nothing again. Even her body knew what was held most importance when the time came.

Her thoughts managed to trail back to the girl again, as did her eyes. She tried to see her, but it was hard in the over powering light of their blazing fire. She imagined her crying at her death, tears making streamlines down her dirty face. But a part of her knew the girl wasn't. It was strange how she almost seemed to understand Katniss's nature in a way she cared little know about in her other victims. Perhaps because so much time and effort had been invested in this one tribute.

She was trying to decide whether she would skin her or make deep unbearable lacerations into the girl's face when she saw Glimmer saunter over to Cato- Cato who sat on a log and seemed to be just as focused on the branches above as she was. Though of course Clove had hardly paid mind to Cato; the only member of their _alliance _she paid mind to now was none other than Lover Boy- whose death she had begun to plot just as vigorously as she did his district partner; they were lovers after all, how could one _bare _to live without the other? This very thought almost brought a wave of laughter out of her. At that moment Lover Boy was looking at them all again, mostly Cato now. At one point when she broke her gaze away from the trees she had caught him staring at her.

Would he enjoy watching the girl die? Clove wondered the truth in the statement he had made in the elevator. She wondered where his motivation was in all of this. Selflessness was something she never understood but never tried to. It seemed too unfathomable and because of this it was dangerous to think about. So she told herself that regardless of why he was with him, it would be a mistake that would cost him his life sooner than later. As soon as Katniss came down.

Suddenly she saw Cato shoot up from where he stood, his facial features ablaze with fury – all of it directed at Glimmer who gazed up at him with her doe-like eyes. Clove's posture straightened in anticipation. But she was more than surprised to see his head jerk to the forest without uttering a single word. When Glimmer stood, she slithered up from her seat in the way a snake does across the ground. Her body language was concentrated all toward one thing that not even Clove was ignorant enough to miss.

She wasn't sure why her jaw suddenly locked in that moment when she watched the pair disappear into the dark or why there was something heavy forming in her chest- a type of anger that was surprisingly foreign to her seeing that she had been sure rage was an emotion she knew every corner to. She did what she could to stifle the feeling but truthfully Clove had never been good at stifling her anger. If it was something like remorse or warmth or even fear, when it rarely came, Clove knew how to depose of it. But anger always had a hand on her.

Cato- too angry, too predictable... did he even know how easy he would be to take down? He thought he had some upper hand on her, he truly thought he would be the one to kill her. But he wouldn't. He had nothing. He was just another arrogant brute in these games; there were a million like him. But there was hardly ever a player like her.

Suddenly she hated herself for this foolish, senseless burst of emotion. Cato didn't matter right now. Glimmer _certainly _didn't matter. Only Katniss mattered. Well, Katniss and the skin or lack off on Clove's back.

The thought had just crossed her mind when she saw several sliver parachutes flutter down through the night sky toward the group of them. One landed near Marvel, one near Marina and one near Clove. As she picked hers up she couldn't help but smile at Lover Boy, who got nothing. But as she did she caught him staring up into the trees- tearing his gaze away only when he noticed he was being watched.

She already knew what her package was before she opened it- medicine. It was about time too. Lyme's voice came to her mind: "_Care about it now, or care about it in the arena"- _well she had been right. Clove did need the sponsors, in a sense. Though she should have been smart enough to functionally operate without them.

In the package she also noticed two silver boxes filled with steaming stews. Given the bold _two_ written on the parachute she knew who the other dinner was for. Well wasn't Cato busy right now? And she wasn't that hungry.

Clove smiled as she through the extra box into the fire.

* * *

><p>Night had long past fallen as Peeta stared into the sky. The moon had disappeared, the sky was a colorless purple. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight. How could he?<p>

He had failed, the careers had Katniss now. Well, no he hadn't failed yet. There was still a chance he could save her. It was slim- but it was still possible. He already knew what he would do. The moment she came down he would have to attack the Careers himself. It would be difficult to go for two or more at once. But maybe it would be just the distraction she needed to get away, _maybe…_

There was another reason Peeta couldn't sleep. It was because these would be the last moments of his life. There was no question as to whether or not he would die tomorrow.

He rolled his head to the side so he could look into the trees and see her. She would never know what he did. She would never know it was for her. Maybe in the end she would. But even then, knowing Katniss she would assume it was for sponsors and the whole star-crossed-lovers bit. She would never know it was because he actually did love her.


	13. Horrors

**In a random surge of motivation I typed up a storm and got out this chapter. Nothing really to say except please do enjoy! I've had the gangs hallucinations scenes in my head for a while now (and by a while I mean since I started writing out this story). The things that they fear now will play big parts in their actions later. I mean Tracker Jackers are supposed to make everyone go a little crazy, right? ;) Please lemme know your thoughts as usual. My writing style was a taddd bit different for this chapter. **

**(Edit) Fixed a few errors, added a few details about Marvel's ladylove ect. Just wanted to mention I'm almost sad parting with Glimmer and Marina :( It was fun writting them- especially Glimmer!**

**(Edit again: 7/8) After a little reading it came to my understanding that the lake the Careers ran to was their orginal base camp- therefore being guarded by non other than little Circut. So I fixed this. By the way I can't stress enough how much I LOVE you guys. Thankyou so much for supporting this story. Really. It means so much to me. I'll have a new chapter up soon, I promise!**

* * *

><p><strong>13.<strong>

Even in sleep, Clove wasn't at peace. The decision to rest wasn't her own – it was her bodies. Had it been up to her, she would have stayed awake watching Twelve the entire night. As the others laid down to rest sometime earlier, when the stars had been at the opposite side of the horizon, the thought that none of them wanted Twelve as awfully as she did was confirmed (for this reason she decided they didn't quite deserve to have the girl then.) Though not long after their snores filled the air, her back and neck began to ache in protest. When she laid down her lids involuntarily sunk over her eyes as a bird chirped somewhere in the distance.

When they opened again, it was to a different sound entirely.

* * *

><p>At first it was only a distant drone that seemed to faintly increase in volume. For an inconceivably small amount of time the noise could have been a sweet lullaby and nothing more.<p>

Glimmer had been barely roused into conscientious. Like a small child, she nestled her blonde head further into her shoulder and smacked her lips which were dry from a deep sleep.

Hours ago, it was her turn to keep watch on the girl from Twelve. But never once in her life did Glimmer have to do anything she didn't care too. _Especially_ if the orders came from the arrogant ogre that was Cato. So she stayed up for as long as she desired and didn't fight fatigue when it came. Glimmer drifted off as pleasantly as if she had been back home in District One, laying in her cloud of a bed and adorned in her fine silken sheets rather than sitting uncomfortably upright against the hard bark of a tree. She had a passing thought about the girl she was supposed to be watching as she sunk into sleep; how silly and dirty she was. Then it fluttered off into the night like a butterfly with the rest of her thoughts.

Now, about to slip back into the sleep she had been in, the drone was no longer distant. It was no longer even a drone. The sound was the combination of dozens of individual buzzes, each with their own pitch. Glimmer opened her eyes just in time to feel the first sting.

It began as just one insect. Then two. Then there were hundreds of black dots whizzing past her eyes. She hardly had the time to wonder exactly what they were before she began to scream and wildly beat them away from her.

As her hands moved before her eyes she saw that already there was a bulging wad of flesh developing, yellow against her opal colored skin. She shrieked. The bugs seemed to keep coming for her face. One flew into her opened mouth. They kept stinging her- again and again. They wouldn't stop stinging her.

The others around her had all woken up too. She saw Clove's dark ponytail flash past her but it almost seemed to move too slow. Cato caught the girl by her collar. "To the lake!" he shouted. "To the lake!"

Glimmer covered her face and grabbed her bow. But the insects were relentless. She stumbled forward after the others but she couldn't- she just couldn't reach them. All she felt was sting after sting. There were too many of the insects to swat off now but she still whipped her bow at them. When she felt her arm go numb she screamed for the others.

But in response she only heard a voice that echoed from the night before.

"_Whose going to come for you_?

Between the brown of the dashing insects she looked down to see purple, oozing appendages where her arms were supposed to be. But none of it made sense anymore. Not the pain. Not the screams. Not the ringing she heard around her. Nothing. Nothing.

As her body crumpled to the ground she saw something she hated. It was the mouth of her father. He had emerald eyes just like hers but she never looked into them. Only his mouth. It kissed her lips in a way no father should. Then it spoke.

_You'll end the world, my dear. _

With those words, she began to slip away from it all. Every memory she ever had faded to black. Fingers trailing across a blue wall. A wide window. The white teeth of chattering girls. Her lips against a warm, soft neck. A pair of hands at her back that she actually wanted there. Pairs of hands that she didn't. Sweet giggles that rang through warm summer nights. Blonde tresses encasing the twirling body of a child.

Nothing.

Her thoughts in those final moments were frantically trying to understand something, _anything_. But eventually even they went silent.

_What a tragedy_, was breathed throughout her hollow mind. Because though she was too far gone to know who she was or how she got there, she knew she was dying.

* * *

><p>Marina staggered forward.<p>

She knew of these little monsters. Tracker jackers. She had seen them in previous Hunger Games. She could remember a time when she sat before the massive screen in District Four years ago wondering with mild curiosity what sort of horrors their stings could cause. Now she knew.

She wished more than anything that she didn't.

Glimmer's piercing shrieks motivated her to push on. Only a few of the insects hovered around her now, occasionally awarding her with another sting. But they had already gotten her bad enough. She wasn't as fast as the others. She thought she saw Peeta, running far ahead- though her eyes were beginning to deceive her now. Things had lost their proportion. Absently she touched her neck which was covered in frighteningly large lumps. As the world around her began to darken, she knew she couldn't take many more. Her only defense was to swat the little beasts with all her diminishing strength.

Her hands moved slow before her eyes. She couldn't be sure if she truly was that weak or if it was part of the hallucination. The ground began to shift into a steep incline. A heavy weigh was upon her. She tumbled down beneath it.

Black was pouring from the stings on her arms- now the size of plums. No, she wouldn't go like this. She couldn't. The idea that she may die frightened her to her core. She couldn't move her mouth but inside a ghastly scream was rippling through the cervices of her mind. She could _die_.

As she flipped on her belly to crawl, she looked up to see she wasn't surrounded by trees anymore. Rather all she saw was massive looming entities the color of fresh blood. In the distance there were guppies wiggling through the strange beings but they disappeared almost as soon as she noticed them. She wanted to reach out an arm to catch them. She tried. But her arms weren't a part of her anymore. Nothing was.

If there was something Marina understood it was not to bother fighting a losing battle. And she was losing this one. So she ended the struggle, waiting with patience for death to come.

And come it did.

* * *

><p>"Shit! Shit! <em>Shit!<em>"

Clove was snarling the words as she crushed the remaining insects that buzzed around her. The stings they left her with were growing at a rapid rate. The first one she had gotten on her shoulder blade was already the size of a ripened orange.

She was running but roots seemingly rose to trip her. The trunks she thought she passed continued to move alongside her. But she didn't pay mind to them. Focus on Cato, was all she told herself as she followed him. Just look at him, look at him.

When the lake came into view she hurled herself into it without hesitation. The water roared as it took her, dragging her into the mud at the bottom of its murky body. She held her breath as she fought against it. Something was holding her ankles and dragging her down. She kicked away at it but it kept grabbing her again. When she opened her eyes she saw faintly saw it. It was a creature. It looked almost human. Black clumps of hair flowed away from the pale face.

Her head was bursting from the water then, coughing and sputtering. The trees that loomed overhead seemed to have taken on a different quality. She couldn't be sure exactly what. Though she did notice that the colors around her seemed a bit… brighter.

The boy from Three began screaming as a few of the Tracker Jackers that had followed them began to attack him. With very little grace he almost fell into the lake.

Cato appeared beside her with a splash. Droplets were rolling across a massive purple sting beneath his eye and from his dusty gold locks of hair. His eyes were off though. They were as black as the water that now breathed around them. Clove was confused. She hadn't truly seen a natural body of water before she came into the arena but she knew that it wasn't supposed to _pulse_ like that.

"Get him," Clove said. Though she only understood why she had said it a second after the words spilled from her lips- because Lover Boy was already out of the lake and running through the trees again. She shook her head. _No, no_, she told herself. _Stay with it. Hallucinations are for the weak_.

Cato didn't acknowledge her. Instead his head was already moving through the water like a serpent. He crawled from the lake, breathing heavy. Then he was off too. Gone.

_Follow them_, Clove told herself. But for some reason she had an undying need to stay exactly where she was, listening to the stillness around her. Only the stillness itself seemed to increase in volume. The chirping of some animal was as loud as if it had been blaring through a speaker. The wind was thumping, louder and louder. She was so distracted she didn't even hear the buzzing of a stray Tracker Jacker before it stung her again.

Marvel's head slowly rose from the water before her, his skin as white as a pearl. A cannon fired. The sound sent waves through the air. Marvel only locked his black eyes with hers while the water continued to pulse around them- more in unison and unnatural than before. He held one arm out to her and tapped the plum that grew there.

The water then rose like the walls of a funnel.

Clove was frantic. She struggled to climb out of it. _The water_. It was as black as a grave. It was as red as blood that spurted from Ten's neck. It was as orange as the flames of the fire. It was burning her. It was pulling her in. It was consuming her.

Another cannon.

When she pulled herself onto shore she couldn't remember how she had got there. A part of her was still drowning in the water. She wanted to go back for it. Until she saw the body.

It was lying a distance before her in the sand. It's blonde hair was in a mess. It was Glimmer. Clove couldn't see her face but she knew it was Glimmer. With its back still to Clove it began screaming. The sound of it was so incredibly loud that Clove could hardly bare it. But when she approached the body, it stopped.

"No," Clove said. Her voice seemed to echo through her own ears. "Scream again."

But the body didn't listen. Clove kicked it.

"_Scream again_," she demanded, stomping her foot on the ground. She wanted to hear the screams again. She didn't know why because they were so awful. But she wanted to hear them again.

The body still didn't listen. Instead the hair began to turn gray and fall out of its head and the skin began to melt away.

"_Scream again!_ _Scream again! Scream again!_"

Clove was on the body now. She was pulling it by its colorless hair and smashing its face hard into the ground as she shrieked. Its skull began to crack but it wasn't hard enough. She pulled out the clumps of hair it had left. She began to kick its back until it was indented.

_Scream again. Scream again._

Its head turned from the dirt to look at her. When Clove saw its face, she screamed right along with it.

Because the face was her own.

Everything grew large around her now as she crumpled to the earth, drowning in her own screams. The world was spinning so fast it was all only a blur. She was dying, she was so sure she was dying. And with this thought everything changed.

The scenery dissipated into blackness. All around her. She only saw black.

Never before had she understood so clearly why she had always hated that color.

It was nothing. It was_ nothing_. And she was so full of nothingness. How many aspects of her life had been shaped to fill it? How many times had she stared into blank walls or pulled her hair out screaming, _screaming_ because there wasn't a thing she could do to keep herself from tearing apart into _nothing._

But she would _never _escape it.

She could see it all now. Even if she killed every last one of the tributes in the arena, even if she lived to see District Two again, it didn't matter how much she destroyed; she would still be consumed by the nothingness. Right up until the day she died.

And in that moment, she understood death at its blankest.

When it came her entire being would seize to exist. There would be no thought, no feeling, not even a conscious of being dead. She would be gone- left in the blackness for the rest of the eternity.

Nothing at all.

Her screams drew her back to the spinning world again. But before she had time to feel any real relieve the sky was falling down on her.

* * *

><p>As Marvel hauled himself from the lake, he heard a cannon fire.<p>

He took slow deep breaths. That cannon signaled the death of one of their own. He wasn't sure exactly who. In efforts to keep his mind away from hallucinating, he tried to make sense of who. Perhaps Lover Boy? No, Marvel had seen him. Cato was still alive and kicking, unfortunately. The boy from Three was struggling in the water still. Clove was within eye range, though truthfully she didn't exactly look like she was going to make it much longer. The girl had seemed to go completely mad, screaming and pounding her fists into the ground. Marvel wouldn't let the venom get to him like it did her. All of Panem w_as _watching. He wouldn't embarrass himself or his district in such a way.

Though he realized when he saw a little girl crawl down from the trees that he didn't have much of a choice.

Upon seeing her, he knew whose death the cannon had signaled. He also knew that this little girl wasn't truly there. Not only was she dead but even when he left her screaming and thrashing on the ground back at camp, she was ten years older than the child who stood before him. Her emerald eyes bore into him.

"Marvel," Glimmer sneered, her voice just as real as it had been ten years ago as they trained together in the academy. He had hated her just as much then as he did now.

He waited for her to say something more. But she said nothing. Instead the child only opened her mouth and when she did, he heard the horrific buzz of the Tracker Jackers. Instinctively he stood up to run, only to fall back down again. He tried to tell himself it wasn't real but little Glimmer was in his face now, her mouth still opened inhumanly wide as the maddening buzzing filled his ears.

Then it wasn't Glimmer anymore. It wasn't even a human. The creature that stood before him now was one he couldn't explain. He couldn't see it but he knew it was there. It was worse than any mutt he had ever seen, it was far worse than any Tracker Jacker. Its presence brought along with it a terror he had never experienced before.

He began to tear away at his own flesh to keep it from touching him. Starting with his arms. He dug his nails into his skin and ripped across until his own blood turned his fingers red. The buzzing still rang through his ears. It was so loud it was painful. No longer was it the buzz of the Tracker Jackers though. It was much like the static of the broken television that sat in the dingy little room Citrine shared with her mother back in District One.

The thought of her brought her into the arena. Marvel saw her moving through the trees in the distance- her fiery curls fluttering around her willowy frame. He heard her calling his name as she stumbled over the stones and roots her unseeing eyes couldn't detect. But her beautiful voice was drowned out by the sound. That god forsaken sound that he would rather tear his own ears off than hear any longer.

It was all silenced by a scream.

He could tell this scream was real. It was natural. It pulled him from his hallucinations just so he could fall right back into them again.

It was Clove. She was the only thing real in all of this. He tilted his head from where he lay flat on his back to look at her. The pale flesh on her face fell in folds between her eyes. And that _scream_. It was the shriek of a thousand banshees. He needed it to end. He had to make it end.

He grabbed his spear which laid dislodged at his hand as he rolled on his belly so he could crawl to her.

He had always known she was a monster. He had _always _known.

* * *

><p>In many ways, Peeta was glad she did it. Katniss had saved herself. And she may have saved him too.<p>

By dropping the nest on them, Katniss had killed two of the careers. Maybe Glimmer and Marina weren't exactly the most blood thirsty of them all but if it had come down to it, they would have killed whoever they had to to win. And while Peeta had gotten stung it wasn't enough to kill him. So really this was a victory for him- a gloomy victory but a victory all the same.

Though he felt the lumps rise painfully across where he had been burned on his chest from the fire hours ago. He knew hallucinations would come for him. He wobbled slightly as he ran and he still thought he heard Marina's deathly moans saying his name. She was dead now. They had already collected her body.

In the madness, Peeta had hardly noticed exactly what happened to Glimmer. He knew she got the worst of it all. He feared they hadn't collected her body yet.

But when he crashed through the underbrush what he saw was much, much worse.

"What are you still doing here?" he hissed at her. Katniss only stared blankly back at him. Absolute fear washed over him now. Cato was right behind him. He would kill her. He would kill them both.

"Are you mad?" he said, prodding her with the butt of his spear to make her stand. "Get up! Get up!"

With difficulty, Katniss rose but she didn't make any moves away from him. She was bad. Peeta could already see she was bad. She wouldn't stand in a fight right now. Peeta shoved her away from him hard.

"Run!" he shouted in desperation. "_Run!_"

She stumbled away at the sound of a sword slashing through the underbrush behind him. Katniss would escape. She would be okay, for now. But he wouldn't. Peeta closed his eyes for just a moment before he turned to meet his death. He had thought that he was saved too soon.

Cato didn't try to hide the unbreakable rage from his features as he approached Peeta with the sword that suddenly looked triple its original size. Peeta's thoughts flickered to his father. He saw the man's warm smile as he ruffled Peeta's hair.

He hoped more than anything he wasn't watching right now.

Cato was tilting his head as he spoke. "I warned you," he said. He was going to continue but Peeta knew this would be his only chance to strike. Should he flee Cato would probably catch him, or worse he would go for Katniss. Peeta wanted nether of those things. If he was going to die, he was going to die as _himself_. And while Peeta may have not been a fighter, he wasn't a coward ether.

But he was afraid.

Peeta charged at Cato without a sound. He could have hurled the spear but if he missed, he would have ended up weaponless. Cato managed to block the blow with his sword but he was still slow to do it. The venom was already weighing down on the massive boy, making him sluggish. Peeta made a motion to directly stab him in the abdomen but Cato skillfully swung the sword with such force into his spear that he knocked Peeta over right along with it.

Cato had his foot on Peetas chest before he could scramble away. As Cato leaned his face toward Peetas, the boy was as large as the trees.

"_-Dead faster than you can say Katniss,_" Cato spit through gritted teeth.

Peeta heard Panem cheering Cato on, screaming like animals for his blood. He swore he heard it blaring through the arena. Did they normally do that? Play the reactions of the crowd for the victims to hear? Peeta heard his mother too as a manic smile spread across Cato's face. _District Twelve will still have a winner, _she hissed. _And at least she won't be such a fool._

"You know what?" Cato said, trying to feign calmness for theatrical purposes. Though the effect was all the more frightening. His words were shaky as they were squeezed from his teeth. Had he grown in the past twenty seconds? Suddenly the boy looked even bigger than he had been.

"Maybe we should make this slow, huh, Twelve? Panem doesn't want to see their Lover Boy go just yet."

Without warning Cato dug the sword into his upper thigh. Peeta thought he had prepared himself for pain but not like this. His body convulsed but Cato's foot kept it pinned to the ground. He didn't care to stop himself from screaming. He could hardly see Cato anymore. It was as if all his other senses had been turned off and all he could feel was the excruciating_ pain_.

The sword carved straight through the muscle of his thigh, perhaps even scrapping the bone as well. As if from a distance, Peeta heard Cato's laughter. Even further in the distance he heard the soft weeps of his father. Further still, he heard Katniss's whispers as she watched him, years later, back home in District Twelve with a victors crown still adorned in her hair.

Her words were carried in the wind that rushed past his face.

* * *

><p>Cato reveled in Lover Boy's screams. He stayed and watched him as he struggled to crawl away until he heard that familiar buzz. He ran back the way he came, barreling through the trees, but the little bastard still got him anyway. He crushed it before it could fly away from him. As he stared into his palm he thought he saw it's dislodged wings still beating. He shook his head.<p>

When he turned to face the forest, he wasn't quite in the arena anymore. No, he was in the arena. But it didn't look like the arena. There was something so different. He supposed the trees were the same. It wasn't the rocks or the ground ether. But then he realized it was the _air _itself. It visibly pulsed around his body as he moved through it. He waved his hand in front of his face, marveling at the strange vibrations he could see around his wiggling fingers. Then he understood what was happening. Fear washed over him.

The very air of this place was trapping him here.

_No_, he snarled in defiance. Then he charged ahead, dully realizing how slow he had become. The rising sun in the sky weighed down on him, pushing him to the ground. But he wouldn't let it.

"My Cato, always a fighter," said Licinia, glowering at him as she stepped from behind a tree. He realized her nose was crinkled drastically, like that of a snarling dog.

_What are you doing here, mother? _He growled to keep her away.

"My Cato, always a fighter," she said again, only now she was twirling around the tree. "My Cato, always a fighter. My Cato, always a fighter."

She was singing. He covered his ears. _Get out! _He tried to scream at her but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything. _You bitch! Get out! Get out!_ Suddenly the dark trees were flying past him again and he was sure he was moving. But he couldn't be certain. There was nothing now he could be certain of.

His body crashed into the ground and when it did, roots began to grow toward him. He reached for his sword to hack them away but the device was too heavy.

No, _stay_. It was the trees speaking, coaxing. The ground was working its way up, or perhaps he was sinking in. He would be trapped here forever, he was sure of it.

Get up, he told himself. _Get up_.

His knees buckled when he tried to stand, so he crawled. Bursts of dirt flew into the air as they tried to bury him in their sickening whispers but he wouldn't let them. Then there were the bugs. They swarmed from the trees and crawled out of the ground. They completely covered him and suddenly things began to drag him into the earth. He tried to scream but already it was too late.

He saw his body decomposing in this place and the worms as they burrowed into his dead eyes. Fungus growing out of his limbs and his mouth open in a permanent gawk because the world had already forgotten he ever existed. And then he saw _Her_, the small of her back before she slipped into the pink waters of a bath at home, in District Two, and she raised a fine glass in her white fingers and through her head back to take a drink. She laughed. She laughed and laughed. She had won and he had lost. He rotted away, never to leave this place, never to feel the glory he had waited so long to feel; a life lived in vain.

This discovery was his worst fear. The truth of it would never leave him. And as he understood this, the absolute horror of it all gave him back his voice. He screamed. He screamed like he had never heard himself scream before.

The trees parted like a curtain to reveal the lake. The waters were red. Everything was becoming red.

He saw something as it slithered through the mud. It was pale and gold. But then it became red. Through the shifting colors he recognized the face to be Marvel's. What he moved toward looked like nothing more than a ball on the ground. But Cato knew that dark hair and he knew those screams. It was Clove.

_I have you_, her voice echoed around him. She did have him. She truly did.

He could see now how much she terrified him. Because for all he choose to ignore, she really could win this. She could win and he could die here, stay trapped in this place forever while the world forgot his name.

The world would never forget his name.

Cato saw what Marvel intended to do with the spear that glimmered from his hand. But he wouldn't let him. _He_ would kill her. He would kill her and show District Two. He would show the nation.

He ran to protect what was his. Marvel hardly even noticed him, just raised the spear as he nearly slumped over the screaming girl. Cato saw his own fist slamming into the boy's jaw.

And then he plummeted to the ground on top of her.


	14. A Thousand Different Fears

**Yes I am alive! I've had this chapter in the works for maybe a month now and I've just been too lazy to fix it up. But all of your kind words have motivated me. You guys have given me 130 reviews. ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY REALLY NICE REVIEWS! I don't even care if that's good by FF standards. To me that is amazing. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH. All the support you have been giving me if absolutely…incredible it the only way to say it. From the encouraging PMs to you guests whose comments are both appreciated and loved even though I can't send a personal thank you. I seriously love you guys. And mark my words: I WILL NOT give up on this story. I promise I won't leave you hanging. Honestly the chapters have been coming out slow this summer because I've been out enjoying it with friends/family/ect. Once school comes around again I'm sure the endused stress will cause me to crank out the rest of this story. **

**Alsooo I don't know how many of you noticed but I do have a Marvel fanfic up now. He's going to be dying soon and I love him too much to stop writing about him. Getting chapters out for that though is a whole 'nother story -_- Its written in a different fashion than this. And unfortunately trying to perfect that is going to take up a lot of my time. But if anyone cares to I would love for ya'll to check that out!**

**On a side note: has anyone else been checking out the catching fire castings? WE'VE GOT A JOHANNNA! And a Brutus (I think Bruno Gunn is perfect.) And did anyone else notice that Meta Golding (who plays Enobaria) is totally SMOKING? Oh my god! The cast is so awesome already. I feel like I'm going to lose it when they cast Finnick. I can not wait. Gahh!**

**Okay well fangirl moment over. I really hope you guys like this. I introduced a certain foxy character I have been neglecting. Along with one that we hear about in the books but only as a cannon sound… ;) Let it be known that the Foxface in my head is the one who I originally saw in the books: sneaky, tricky, clever but not the innocent doe-eyed Emmerson we saw in the movies. **

* * *

><p><strong>14.<strong>

The sun made ugly purple gashes across the sky as it scraped through to reach the horizon. Clove only dully noted the nature of these objects, though her mind was too weak to actually classify them as she would normally. Her eyes were too dry to stay open despite the efforts she made. Slowly she sunk back into what she had experienced perhaps a million times now and what she was sure to experience a million times more before it was through. If it would ever be through.

She saw an old friend again.

It was alone in the room with her. Whenever she saw it, they were always alone. Years ago it had caused many wild fits, many uncontrollable spurts of aggression; many uneasy travels across a sea of sedation. It was because of this thing that Clove never forgot to how fear.

She stared into its eyes and it too stared into hers. A thousand years passed in only mere seconds. The walls of the building began to crumble away. The trees around them wilted and died. They stayed like this forever until all that was left was just the two of them. And she was truly alone. Just her and this creature for the rest of time.

Outside of her hallucinations, her face cringed in response.

* * *

><p>Cato smashed hard into consciousness when he involuntarily arched his back. It had been both the pain that shot through his spine as he did and the thundering sound of his own screams that brought him back. His vision was coated in that greasy film he had come to know all too well since the morning that bitch dropped the little fucking monsters on him. Only hell knew how long ago that was.<p>

All he could hear was the ringing in his ears. His stiff neck made an unsettlingly silent crack as he tilted it to see Clove's dark matted hair at his side. Neither one of them was in any sort of comfortable position that would suggest they had curled up like this on purpose. He tried to move his arm just so he could roll over her body and see her face. He couldn't explain why he wanted to see it. Maybe to prove he wasn't about to fall into another hallucination.

As if on command Clove was stirred, almost a bit too quickly. She rolled over and tilted her chin up to look at him. Her lips were soft without even a crack to show that she had been knocked out for hours (-days, maybe even weeks). If this alone wasn't a hint that he had yet to escape the Tracker Jacker venom, there was no denying it when she climbed on top of him.

Her hair stuck out in all different ends as she mounted him, blocking out the discolored sun. He decided it didn't matter if this was a hallucination or not. Cato only knew that at that very moment he wanted her. So he didn't stop her when she slowly brought her lips to his. But she was being tender about it which was all wrong in itself. He pushed his hips against hers, to which she only lifted her torso with the same force. She could have been weightless.

In his frustration he pulled back so he could look into her eyes. But when he did, he saw that they weren't black.

They were gray.

Instantly he jolted. He tried to throw her off of him so he could pin her to the ground and kill her. But she suddenly weighed more than he did. Instead it was she who kept him trapped beneath her, tightening her thighs around his torso until he couldn't move at all. His hands shot up to grab her face so he could tear that olive skin straight from her bones. In response she through his hands down and brought her face close to his.

When Katniss opened her mouth to speak, Cato heard the voice of Caesar Flickerman.

"_Sorry we're out of time. Best of luck, Katniss Everdeen, tribute from District Twelve_!"

The roar of the thousands of admirers that she had back in the Capitol lite the surrounding trees on fire. And before he could think to himself that they were all supposed to be _his, _she whipped her head hard into his skull. The whole world went dark again.

* * *

><p><em>Remember how you told me you would give me anything I wanted?<em>

The strands of her hair were like streaks of blood against the white silk she laid on. Her eyes weren't focused on him. They never were. But her smile was as beautiful as ever as she giggled at her own little joke. The sweet voice rang out once more.

_Remember Marvel? Don't you remember?_

And then she was disappearing into the covers. Marvel immediately crawled after her, responding to the jolt of anxiety he felt at losing her completely. But she was quicker than he and she scurried through them until she was so far away he could only hear her distant laughter. _Citrine_, he bellowed. But he didn't make a sound. Already he was gone.

The sheets were ripped away from his body and he was standing before the towering buildings and a sea of people in District One. For such a painfully small amount of time he held the glory he had spent a lifetime expecting. And then a pair of hands grasped hard onto his shoulders and through him to the ground. He couldn't see his killer. But those hands tore him apart and through every last part of him far into the ground.

But not far enough. He still saw the distorted smiles of his peers as his preeminence crumbled to pieces. He heard the startled cries of Citrine as the harsh, unforgiving world worked to consume her because she couldn't survive it without him there to take care of her.

Finally his father flicked away all that was left of him as carelessly as if he had been brushing dust off the family portrait.

Just a dark splotch across a picture of perfection. Forever wasted.

* * *

><p>Circuit applied another round of burn cream to his stings. It didn't do much to help the swelling but it did help the pain, just a little bit. He had only been stung once. Compared to the others he was in pristine health.<p>

Wasn't he just so lucky?

Lucky enough that he got to watch the others as they suffered- too terrified to actually kill them himself and too hopeful because for all the wishing he had done and all the things he had told himself over the past two days, he still knew they were going to live. Any day now one of them was going to wake up. Their muffled cries were slowly becoming shouts.

_You can still kill them_, a small voice told him.

It was true. He could still do it. Every last one of them was at his mercy- including the boy from Two.

But even in their weakest states, they still terrified them.

He knew not making this move would be the death of him. Cowardliness was the word he used to describe it. Maybe because of all that he did for them, they would kill him painlessly.

Oh _where _was Peeta at this moment? All of this would be so much better if he could just have Peeta around. He knew something bad happened to him. Circuit heard his screams from deep within the trees after Cato chased him. But he kept his eye on the skies for the past two nights now and saw that he was still alive during the death tolls. What if he just left to go find him? _What if_-?

The boy from One suddenly jolted awake. His usually tame blonde hair was sticking up at all ends as he lifted himself from the ground. His eyes seemed unfocused. Just as he had himself upright he leaned over and vomited on the ground.

Fear washed over Circuit. He was too late. He should have killed them! He just should have _killed them_! How could he have been so stupid? Though… there was still time. One was weak. He was _very _weak.

Carefully, Circuit stood up and crept around the heap of food and across the landmines he had created. But he moved too slow and before he even came close to One he was sure none of this would work. One caught his eyes when he was at least ten feet away.

The boy looked so different now. He seemed so… well the only word Circuit could think of was vulnerable. His face was hollow, his skin was a sickly yellow, the stings on his arms were repugnant. But still the boy's eyes attacked him in such a way that Circuit couldn't move forward. As a matter of fact he stopped moving altogether.

There was something so different in One's eyes. It wasn't the red veins that stained the whites of them or the dark, haggard shadows that hung below them. Rather it was the expression his eyes held within. When Circuit had last seen the boy conscious they were aloof, constantly looking down on people, always with lowered lids as if he could care less who stood before him. Now they were wide, _angry_ and almost frightened- the eyes of a beaten animal.

When Circuit backed away, it wasn't out of pity. It was out of fear. But even still he couldn't help but appreciate with grim fascination how the games always managed to break apart everyone of its tributes, no matter how well prepared they may have been when they entered them.

* * *

><p>Clove opened her eyes to an unsettlingly friendly world and a splitting headache. Waves of pain washed over her entire body and she couldn't suppress the moan that passed her lips. Everything hurt from her head right down to her feet. Perhaps the sky truly did fall on her during the hallucinations.<p>

The hallucinations. She was reminded of them again and with reluctance she realized they were finally over. Her pain was too real for them to come back.

Things began to shift into focus then- particularly the figures that shuffled around in the distance. The largest she understood to be Cato. A slighter, leaner shadow sat in a near fetal position over a spear, sharpening it- Marvel. And finally the smallest of all was the boy from Three, kicking dirt into a hole in the ground.

Clove rolled as nausea came over her. Her clothes were filthy and completely drenched in sweat and dirt. What had happened? How long had she been here? Information came back to her in bits and pieces, shuffling through the intangible nightmarish world she had just rose from. None of it quite made sense. Her body was weak and her mind was even weaker. She needed water. That was first.

Ignoring the others she did what she could to flip onto her belly without vomiting. The water on the lake ahead of her was blue and shimmering- nothing like the gaping black funnel it had been last time she saw it. With painful amounts of effort she struggled to its edge. Cato was watching her as she did. But he made no kind gestures because he knew damn well she wouldn't want his help-_ especially_ not when she was in such a weak state. She would do the same for him had the roles been switched. No one but someone who hailed from District Two could understand the honor of struggle. It was what separated them from the others on this field.

When she reached the bank she didn't hold back from dunking her entire head into the lake and taking in gulps of water. But this was a mistake. The moment she raised her chin to take a breath all the water she had drank came back up along with a good amount of painfully dry stomach acid. As she heaved it out onto the earth, frustration simmered inside her. She may have trained her entire life but nothing prepared her for this; sick, tired, trapped in a body on the edge of death. Before the arena she had been so very engulfed in civilization where medicines were given to treat illnesses and in some particularly wealthy families, avoxes were there to bring you water or food if you needed it.

It was then that she remembered _all _that had happened. The flea from Twelve dropped the nest of Tracker Jackers on them. In Two, the Academy had taught her all about the little beasts. How the Capitol designed them to target the points where fear lives in one's mind. How they planted them in various locations among the poorer, simpler districts to keep their pathetic citizens in line. That must have been how the bitch knew about them. Could she have possibly picked that tree on purpose? Did she know exactly what they would do? That they would camp at its base and wait for her?

These thoughts enraged Clove, despite her state. Again the pig came to her mind- squealing in her ears just as loudly as the day she had skinned it. But she now understood this wasn't enough. She just had to think of how… _how_-

No, not now. She reminded herself that water was more important than plotting ways to butcher Twelve. Besides, it was hard to think of killing someone when she herself was on the verge of death. Or at least she certainly felt like she was.

Death. The word mulled around in her mind before it actually gained meaning. She noticed Glimmer wasn't one of the shadows she had seen when she woke up. Neither was the sea slug. Nor Lover Boy. After sipping down water and letting her body relax for some time, she slowly sat up to face the others. To her surprise she turned to see Marvel staring at her. Well- staring wasn't the exact word for it. Glaring wouldn't have even been a proper way to describe it. He may as well have been hissing. And while Clove didn't understand it, she didn't look away from him ether.

It was all interrupted by a black velvet case which landed with a _clunk _against the ground and fell open, revealing Clove's own knives.

She looked up and saw Cato standing in a braced position as if he was reading himself for a fight. Oh he was _angry_. She knew the expression he wore almost too well by now- his jaw clenched as it always did when he got mad, the skin on his face was blood red, his lips were narrowed into a long straight line. Clove saw he had tried unsuccessfully to remove the stinger from the swell beneath his eye which was now a ghastly mixture of both purple and green.

"You better be ready to go when the sun goes down," he barked at her. Clove narrowed her eyes. Truthfully she wasn't even sure her voice would work if she tried to use it. But she did anyway. And in a hoarse crack she responded, "Nice to see you healed up so well, jackass."

Cato snapped like a broken string.

"Watch what you're saying you little bitch," he shouted. Though the reaction didn't frighten Clove. If anything, it annoyed her. She wasn't in the mood for one of Cato's pissy little shit fits. Her head was throbbing too terribly as it was. Rather than feed into him, she only glared at him and snarled, "Fuck off."

Suddenly he was charging at her like an angry bull. She was too sickened and tried to understand exactly what he was doing. She saw his body blocking out the sun before her. Then without warning something flat and cold was crashing hard into the side of her face and her body was smacking into the ground. Her vision was covered very quickly by black snow. When it began to melt away she saw Cato storming off into the woods, leaving her with what was sure to be a massive welt. She couldn't be sure if he had punched her or hit her with the flat side of his sword but ether way it wasn't something she needed in her state. For some time she only laid there; too angry to speak, too pained to move.

Eventually she asked Marvel what happened to the others.

He said with a dark smile, "Glimmer's dead."

"And what about Four and Twelve?" Clove asked, the word _Twelve_ in itself burning her lips.

"Four is dead. Cato did something to Twelve but he's still out there."

If the Tracker Jacker incident had made Cato steaming with anger, it did something entirely different to Marvel. Everything about him was off. Rather than lounging as he usually would during their down time, his knees were at his chin as he continued to rub his fingers across the head of the same spear. There were purple shadows in the hollows of his face- particularly beneath his eyes. He left his hair in an unruly mess. It was entertaining to see the boy like this, so far down off his throne.

But for now she took a moment to soak in his words. So Glimmer and the slug were dead? She wasn't happy about this. Anger throbbed inside her. Twelve took away her opportunity to kill those two. They were highly trained- even Glimmer. The girl may have been incompetent when compared to them but certainly not to the other tributes. It was such a waste that their lives were taken by someone so unskilled. The only tributes who had the right to kill the members of her alliance were_ the members_ of her alliance. Not some putrid tribute from Twelve.

Clove clenched her fists. Twelve would never be able to fathom what was coming for her. She would have no clue.

* * *

><p>When Cato came stomping back to camp he was only slightly calmer than before. His face was still red as a beet and the sting beneath his eye only looked worse. As did the constellation of discolored, pulsing bumps he had across his arms.<p>

In the time he had been gone Clove had carved each of her own individual stingers out. She knew keeping them in there would only cause her body more distress. What she didn't understand was why her sponsors weren't sending her any ointment for it. District One was supporting their tribute. Earlier in the day Clove had grudgingly watched Marvel pluck a silver parachute from the air before it touched the ground. The tracker jacker venom certainly hadn't gone well with the boy- he didn't even shoot a pompous look to Clove or Three when he opened his package. To Clove's pleasure he had been highly out of character throughout the day. Paranoid even. Every move she made seemed to make him jump or at least look at her. It was satisfying to say the least.

Cato approached them. With eyes like stone he only said, "Now."

Clove understood what he meant and stood, glaring at him as she did. The side of her face still stung from where his sword had hit it. It wouldn't stop stinging until his blood was drawn by her knives. But for now she was too weak to fight him.

Three rose along with them but Cato shot him back down with only a look.

"You don't leave here until the jobs done," he said, jerking his head toward the last and final explosive sitting outside its hole. "It's bad enough you've taken this long. The other tributes could have seen you working and know by now how to get around them. You're damn lucky I'm letting you live."

Three nodded without making eye contact. Their food was now stockpiled in the middle of an arsenal of explosives. No tribute would be getting to it. They would be able to hunt and eat as they pleased. The plan was brilliant. And while Clove couldn't say she was _glad_ they let the boy live, he did have his usefulness. Besides, it wouldn't be long until before they killed him too.

Marvel's mouth tightening as his eyes flicked between the two of them. His knuckles were white from gripping the handle of his spear.

"Let's go then," Clove said. She picked up a pair of the night goggles off the ground without bothering to grab another for Cato. Then she strode ahead of them without saying a word.

There weren't many words exchanged between them that night. Clove was too weak to waste any energy on her district partner or Marvel. Cato on the other hand seemed to have plenty of energy but it was only focused on one thing.

After maybe an hour or so of combing the woods, Cato violently slashed through an underbrush. "_Where the fuck is she_?" he snarled.

Clove rolled her eyes only because she knew who he was talking about. "It's a big arena," she snapped. "She's not going to appear out of thin air."

But her words seemed to drift around Cato's ears. "She's around here somewhere. I know she is. We're going this way," he said, trekking off into a deeper part of the woods.

Marvel said nothing to question this and so Clove followed without resistance. But as the night went on, Cato's search only became more and more fruitless. And Clove lost more and more of her already depleted amounts of strength. But Cato was ridiculously determined. As the time passed he began to break the silence between them, speaking only of Katniss. The girl was the only thing on his mind. The idea of finding her completely possessed him. But the pointlessness of it all increased with each step she took until finally she had to lean up against a tree to keep from falling over.

"What are you doing?" Cato barked, snapping around when he noticed what she was doing. Ahead of them, Marvel stopped moving.

"We aren't going to find her now," Clove said without looking at ether one of them.

Cato stepped toward her. When he lifted the night vision goggles, his eyes were nearly glowing in the darkness.

"I'm _going_ to find her," he said.

Clove glowered at him. "I'm going back," she said.

His desire had morphed into obsession- she could already see it. In the end it would only put him at a disadvantage in these games. He was a fool for it.

When she turned her back to him, she heard his snarl: "You're weak."

The comment took time to smack against her skin and simmer through into her brain. It burned each of her senses and set every part of her on fire. Weak? Did he just call her _wea_k?

She reached into her coat and removed a knife. It was one of her more burly ones; a large dagger attached to a thick handle. District Two was watching at this moment. Maybe they agreed with him, maybe they didn't. Regardless, she didn't care to know how their eyes saw her. Their opinions meant so little to Clove. But they were everything to Cato. She could humiliate him in a way he couldn't do to her. Perhaps this was one of his weaknesses.

And yet when she turned, she found the tip of his sword pointed at the bottom of her ribcage.

She wasn't sure what he expected of her. On normal occasion she would assume he only wanted some sort of reaction. This wasn't one of those occasions. His eyes burned into her. Maybe he really intended to kill her.

Perhaps it was exhaustion. Perhaps it was something more. Whatever the cause, Clove couldn't keep herself from laughing. She stopped when his blade very carefully sunk into her body.

"You do what_ I say_," he breathed.

Without a thought Clove moved to slash her knife across his cheek. But Cato was faster. He pulled the sword away and hit it out of her hand. Before she could pull out another he had the blade back at her stomach again. Only this time he threatened to push all the way in.

"You don't control me," she hissed. Despite the tone of her voice she took steps away from him. Slow, tentative steps as he moved the sword further and further into her.

And then her back was against a tree.

"Oh I control you," he said with maybe a trace of a smile on his face. But Clove knew he meant no humor. She could hear his anger in the sharp click of his words. She could see it in those vacant eyes. There was nothing going on behind them at that moment and she knew it. His viciousness was instinct that needed no thought.

The sword broke deeper into her skin. Before she could contain it, she yelped from shock. The stinging sensation was instant and she felt blood trickle down her hips. He brought his lips to her ear and his breath pierced against it as hard and unforgiving as steel.

"You're spitting on our district," he whispered. "It's an embarrassment. I should fucking kill you."

With shaking hands, Clove dug her palms into the sword to keep it away. A fire burst again inside her.

"Then don't you dare make it quick," she said honestly.

His breath cooled her forehead as it was released between the sharp edges of his white teeth. The rise and fall of his shoulders was uneven to his haggard intakes of air. The tiniest sprouts of colorless stubble were scattered about his square chin. The skin beneath his eye was flimsy and blue. The sting on his cheek was greenish and infected. He was sick. It was the first time she had seen him so breakable. So _human_. And yet still he had her life at the crude edge of his sword.

She could have devoured him.

"I won't," he promised.

The sword sliced against her as he pulled it away. Cold air pried into her ripped skin and felt sharper than the metal that had left it.

"_Fuck_," she gasped as her hands flew to her stomach. She could feel her own slimy blood as it seeped around her fingers. But the cut wasn't fatal. Cato wasn't ending her tonight. Instead he was already marching into the woods, shouting at them, "We're moving."

Marvel stood still for a moment more, watching Clove as she tried to recompose herself. When she met his deep blue eyes, a ghost of a smile appeared across his pale, cracked lips.

"_Happy Hunger Games,_" he whispered.

* * *

><p>They were all animals in these games. The glamour, the parades, the flashing lights of the Capitol- none of it could completely conceal the truth of it all to Darry, who had grown up slaughtering cattle his entire life back at home in District Ten.<p>

There was something incredibly ironic about being where he was. Back in Ten, the cattle were everything. They were food, sustenance, friends for a short period of time. But you learned at a young age never to get too attached to the beasts. They were raised to die to meet the demands of the Capitols very glutinous hunger.

Children, he had come to understand, were very much like cattle.

Darry sat propped up against a tree, continuing to sharpen the weapon he had fastened. It was a make-shift spear that was only becoming better with the time and work he put into it. The knife he had obtained during the bloodbath had kept him alive up until this point. He had pulled it out of the boy from District Nine before he took off into the woods. Many times throughout the days he had been here, Nine's sullen face came to his mind. And as Darry sheared layers of wood from his spear, he thought of the boys ashen skin which must have never been put directly beneath pure sunlight for long before.

_The epitome of just another broken children being thrown into these games_.

This thought was enough to make Darry's lips twitch into a smile. Well, he wasn't really one to criticize others for being _broken_, was he? Forlornly he looked down at his left foot as it laid limb and flat against the soft earth. Years ago as a boy the bones of that foot had been crushed when his Pa tried to teach him to milk their mothering cow. The Capitol had the medication to fix it but his family could have never afforded it. It was an accident that burdened his life back home. Here, it put him at a whole other disadvantage.

But he was surviving. Though it wasn't by much, he was still alive. Because he was from Ten, Darry knew how to live on the threshold of life. He had done it before. He could do it now.

His thoughts traveled back home. Right now the wind would be rolling across the acres of green pastures that made up District Ten. The sun had not fully risen yet but work always began early. He hoped his Mama was opening the doors to their barn, closing her eyes and smiling as a gust of fresh morning air rushed across her face. He hoped his Pa was shoveling hay into the feeders while a long, thick piece of grass stuck out from the corner of his mouth, just as it always did. He tried to see his father's gruff hands as they brushed across the fine, marbled fur of one of their cattle…

Darry knew the reality of it was that his parents were doing none of these things. Along with the rest of Ten, at this moment they were being herded into a pen of sorts to watch the Games on the only projection screen in the district. Darry himself had been there to watch Hunger Games past. Only he knew his parents wouldn't be in the throng of people. They would be on their own separate, special little pedestal so the entire district could witness their pain when he died.

In the distance, Darry heard the rustling of leaves. Instantly his body jolted. Adrenaline and fear rushed through him. That sound could have been a rabbit. But Darry had learned to detect the sounds of animals over the past few days and this was no average forest dweler. To his knowledge, there was only one other creature that inhabited these woods. His hand tightened around his knife.

With difficultly he struggled to his feet as silently as he could and then only stood. He heard the sound again, only it was coming from behind him. He whipped around.

It would have been hard to miss her even in the musky dawn. That hair was just too vibrant. She crept about the trees with a smile on her narrow face that would have been unreadable even if she dared to come closer to him. For just a moment she stood still enough so that she could look at him. Or perhaps it was so he could look at her- the girl, he had learned, only revealed herself to him when she wanted to. She was as elusive as a ghost. It was almost frightening- he had seen her at least three times so far in three different places and she had yet to attack him.

However at this moment he wasn't afraid of her. He could see her. He could kill her, if she came a bit closer. She didn't of course. Instead she pulled the pack she wore from around her back and stuck her hand inside. When she removed it, her fingers were clenched around a paw. A cooked paw.

No, she couldn't have.

When Darry looked to his right, he was shocked to see only two cooked rabbits hanging from a branch that moments ago held three. Somehow the girl had managed to steal the food that hung maybe a yard or two to his side without being detected. He tried to keep his expression stoic as he met her amber eyes but he was sure the surprise wasn't hidden from his face. She was even more a threat than he had anticipated. Had she been stealing food from him this entire time? This wasn't the first time something from his modest collection had gone missing.

The girl's smile wasn't unreadable anymore. She was _taunting _him. With a grimace, Darry fought to remember the district from which the girl hailed. He was almost positive it was District Five.

His knuckles shook as he held his weapons. This girl was taking the food he had fought to catch and literally risked his life to cook. He was about to shout something at her to scare her off- until he heard the sound of voices.

Instantly his stomach dropped. His eyes squeezed shut with the fragile hope that he was only hearing things.

But he wasn't. It wasn't his imagination. It was really them. He knew eventually he would run into them, one way or another. Truthfully it wasn't as soon as he expected it would be. He wanted to lock eyes with the girl from Five before he ran off because suddenly he felt a kinship with her, simply because she wasn't one of them. But the spot where she had stood moments before was vacant. She already disappeared. So he collected his things and did his best to do the same.

He wouldn't though. He knew he wouldn't. As he hobbled along the underbrush, making more and more noise as his panic increased, he knew this would be it. There had never been a chance that he would come out of this alive. He knew he would die here, he just didn't know when.

The voices of his pursuers grew louder. Their footsteps became more rapid.

He didn't quite want to believe that they found him. But when he looked back over his shoulder and saw them, he had no choice but to accept the fact. They charged at him like a pack of wolves, each fighting to get at him first. Silently he cursed his bad foot which prevented him from truly escaping them.

And then his Mama's withered face drifted to his mind. He swore he could hear her blood-curdling screams from all the way back in Ten as she watched her baby running for his life.

He slowed his pace.

No, he_ wasn't_ going to go out like this.

He wasn't going to die running away from them. He wasn't going to let his mother watch them take him down, defenseless and weak. He had been fighting to survive his entire life. His death wouldn't be any different.

With a grimace, he turned to face them.

* * *

><p>The trees were a wall of green as Clove flew between them, nearing her target. He was one of the weaklings on the field. Desperately he hobbled away from them on a wounded foot. He was pathetic.<p>

And Clove couldn't wait to kill him.

Suddenly the boy stopped running all together-if the movement he was making to get away from them could even be called that. Then he actually turned around.

Clove sneered. The sad little tribute was going to put up a fight? He wanted to be brave. How cute.

Now all she could see was him. She wanted him. She wanted this one. His face became more and more twisted as she neared it. The gaping wound across her stomach could have been a bug bite, it mattered so little to her at that moment. Perhaps she was weaker than Cato and Marvel but even still she was faster than them.

_Time for you to die tribute._

Then just as she readied her knife to throw at him, one came spinning through the air aimed directly at her forehead. Without a moments hesitation she dropped to the ground. She didn't even realize she had screamed until the cold air of the morning filled her mouth. The weakling had a weapon? And not just any weapon- one of her own?

Clove was up in an instant. She didn't bother to hold back her snarl. Let her look like an animal. She didn't care. She wanted this boys blood now even more than she did before.

She scrambled up from the dirt almost as quickly as she had fell down into it, not wasting any time. In less than a second she was tackling him to the ground. He may have been taller than her but he was thin and weak.

Or so she thought.

Before she could pin his arms to the ground he reached up and had her by the neck. And surprisingly enough his grip was strong. Her first instinct was to dig her nails into his eye sockets rather than pry his hands from her neck. He kicked her off him. But after a good amount of grappling she had him beneath her again- the both of them coughing and sputtering heavily.

"Where are you from?" she sneered.

The tribute said nothing.

"Oh wait I remember you," she mused. The knife hissed as she pulled it from her jacket. She waved it around before his eyes to see the fear in them. And it was there. For just a moment he couldn't conceal the fact that he was terrified, though he seemed to be trying. "You're the broken one. The_ cripple_."

This seemed to sting him. The boys lips tightened. Clove smiled.

What happened next she wasn't expecting.

She miscalculated the points of which her knees kept his arms pinned down. He kicked her off him again. Only this time she didn't bounce back as rapidly. Before her mind could even catch up to what was happening he had his knee burrowed into her back. He was screaming at her. He was screaming so many things she couldn't understand him- except for one word.

_Monster._

Then the moment was gone and when Clove rolled onto her back, the boy was swinging in the air. Cato had him now.

"We got a fighter here don't we?" he said, his colorless eyes burning bright. His teeth were clenched into a hard smile as he slammed the boy into a tree with such force Clove heard the cracking of bones.

Cato eyed him up and down as he held him by this throat.

"Bad foot, huh?" he sneered. "Maybe I'll do you a little favor huh? I'm sure the Capitol will appreciate the effort."

Something almost burst in the pit of Clove's stomach when he said those words. She knew what Cato was thinking. The idea was glorious. Maybe they didn't have the Girl on Fire. But they certainly had someone to warm up with.

The boy must have understood what he meant too because his stoic mask was broken almost instantly. He began to thrash around. His screams filled the air- so frantic and panicked they sounded like that of a child. Clove knew the word '_no'_ would never quite hold the same meaning to her again.

When Cato threw the boy onto the ground, Clove took a step forward. She couldn't help but notice from her peripheral vision that Marvel took a step back.

Cato could have been a giant at that moment. He hardly seemed real as he stood above the stick of a boy, drawing his sword to the foot that laid limp against the other. Clove's vision darkened as he began to slice at it. He moved the weapon back and forth as if he was cutting wood. But the boys flesh was nothing like wood. Blood ran black from the wound Cato created and the boys shrieks scared off the birds that watched from the trees.

Clove didn't even realize she was screaming along with him. With the boy, with Cato, with the citizens of the Capitol who watched. With everything. She screamed. And she loved it. Perhaps it wasn't her sword that was causing the child such incredible amounts of pain. But still it made her feel more alive than she could remember since these games began.

With all that was happening she didn't notice Marvel march up to the two of them. It wasn't until there was a hollow thud followed by the boys silence that she saw Marvel standing dangerously close to Cato and pulling one of his own spears out from the boys back.

He said nothing as he backed away from them. But really he didn't have too. The veins beneath his wild eyes and his deep breaths said it all.

Marvel was terrified.

Something that looked like both shock and anger washed across Cato's face as the cannon sounded. But when his expression settled on a smile Clove understood it even before his eyes met hers with a wicked smile to match her own.

In time Marvel would be theirs to kill. Soon enough, soon enough.


End file.
